


Heartsounds

by lavender_love00



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 07:56:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 53,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1974999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavender_love00/pseuds/lavender_love00
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When an unexpected ailment lands Kurt in the ICU, his and Blaine's world is turned on its head. Together, they're forced to navigate what "in sickness and in health" truly mean, and to try to come out better for it on the other side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First and foremost, I'd like to thank missmardybum, whose art inspired this story, and without whom there would never have *been* a Heartsounds at all. Thank you for the time you put into drawing more than just the one thing for this fic, and for your flexibility and encouragement. 
> 
> Per usual, this fic would never have made it off my hard drive were it not for the mad beta-skills of judearaya, who I love so dearly and am indebted to forever for the hours she's spent reading, critiquing and talking me through. (If there are any mistakes in here, they are entirely my fault, not hers.) Thank you, darling. I love you.
> 
> Also, huge thanks to iconicklaine, who basically came up with my title for me, and who is, like, SUPER encouraging when it comes to any sort of writing endeavor ever. She is fantastic, and if you don't think so, you're wrong. 
> 
> And lastly, a huge thanks to the mods of reversebang - I can't imagine the work and time commitment an endeavor like this takes, between schedules and complaints and different roadblocks - thank you for your dedication to this fandom and to the artists and authors in this challenge. None of it goes unappreciated.

Tuesday

"Kurt? Kurt, baby, wake up."

 

Blaine's voice sounds far away and muffled, as if Kurt's underwater. He cracks his eyes open and immediately shuts them. "Oh _god_ ," he groans.

 

"Hey, hey … you slept through your alarm. Like, three times," Blaine's telling him, perched on the bed, making Kurt's middle sink into the mattress while he pets his hair like a cat's. "You feeling okay?"

 

"I don't know," he grunts, turning over and struggling into a sitting position. Nothing's amiss except for the fact that he feels like he ran headlong into a brick wall – no stuffy nose, no nausea, a scratchy throat at worst. It's just that his entire body _hurts_.

 

"Well, you _look_ like you feel awful." He doesn't feel so awful that he can't pick up Blaine's pillow and pummel him with it. "Ow! I didn't mean it in a _bad_ way, just – do you think you might want to stay home today? I think the theater can live without you for one day, don't you?" Blaine's rubbing his shoulder where the pillow made contact.

 

"'S what understudies are for," Kurt manages, sinking back into the covers, and god, he doesn't know if he'll be able to even drag himself to the bathroom. That pillow punch took everything out of him. Worth it, though, for the look Blaine gives him. "It doesn't feel like a cold …"

 

Blaine gives him a sympathetic look. "Maybe Grayson or Mads brought home one of those fever viruses from school? Or – I guess even _I_ could have."

 

"Maybe. Would you bring the thermometer? And my cell, so I can call Isaiah?"

 

"Your wish is my command," Blaine says sweetly, "even if you did just try to take my arm off." He bends to kiss him, and Kurt covers his face with his hands.

 

"No-no-no-no," he says, stringing the syllables together into one long word. "Germs. Get away. We have two seven-year-olds, we can't _both_ be sick."

 

Blaine pouts a bit, but acquiesces. He dutifully brings Kurt's cell phone and the thermometer as well as a glass of orange juice, "to perk up your immune system!"

 

"Thanks, honey," Kurt croaks, thermometer poking into his ear. When it beeps, it reads 101.2.

 

"Looks like you're not going anywhere," Blaine says, making a face. "I'll get you some Motrin, and then I've got to run – Mrs. Cohen across the hall is pinch-hitting for us on the school commute this morning, but even with that, I'm _definitely_ gonna be late for work."

 

Kurt sighs. "I'm so sorry …"

 

"Hey, not your fault – I just have to go. Maybe you can sleep it off?"

 

"Maybe. Love you."

 

"Love you too," Blaine says, planting a kiss on the top of his head in spite of his protests. Two Motrin capsules are pressed into one hand, a cup of water into the other, and he swallows them down as Blaine dashes through the door. As soon as his head hits the pillow when he lies back down, he's asleep again.

 

* * *

 

" _Shhh, we have to be quiet, Papa's still sleeping_."

 

Kurt cracks the first smile he's had all day when Madison answers in a perturbed, much louder voice, "Daddy, is Papa _ever_ going to wake up? He's been asleep since we got _home_."

 

" _And he needs to_ stay _asleep, honey, he's–"_

"It's okay," Kurt calls from inside the bedroom, his voice crackling. "I'm up."

 

Light bursts into the room as their two children rush inside, still decked out in their school clothes, followed by Blaine. Kurt _seriously_ hopes Blaine hasn't had them playing with playdough or coloring with markers before he thought to change them…

 

"Papa?"

 

Kurt rolls over to see Grayson's wide, chameleon eyes peering at him.

 

"Yeah, bud?"

 

"Daddy says you're sick. I made you this at school during recess." He hands up a folded piece of pale green construction paper, and Kurt unfolds it, squinting without his glasses. Blaine grins, retrieves them from the drawer in Kurt's nightstand and hands them over.

 

"Thank you, and don't say a word about me getting old," Kurt warns, putting them on. "Now, let's see what you've made me." He closes his eyes against the dizzy spell that passes over him, adjusts his position so he's more comfortable against their headboard.

 

The drawing Grayson hands him is done in crayon and stickers, a big sunshine over a scene of tall men holding hands with two children with neon yellow hair. Scrawled across the page in painstaking print are the words "Feel better Papa! Grayson and Madison love you!"

 

"Mrs. Moorehouse helped me spell all the words right," Grayson announces proudly. "That's us! You and Daddy and me and Mads."

 

"It's beautiful," Kurt says, smiling at his gentle boy. "It's making me feel better already."

[](http://s1224.photobucket.com/user/aprilskinner/media/april1_zpsec2f60dd.jpg.html)

 

"You know what else will make you feel better, Papa?" Madison pipes up from behind her brother.

 

"What's that, sweetheart?" Kurt asks.

 

"We helped Daddy make you soup!"

 

He looks up at Blaine. "Is that right?" he asks fondly. _Oh_ , how he loves this little family of theirs, grown with love and deep roots.

 

"It is. Might not be as good as yours, but it's something," Blaine smiles. "I can bring you a tray if you don't feel like getting out of bed."

 

"Blaine, honey, I haven't been out of bed since last night except for the couple times I had to pee today. I think I can manage to make it to the couch, at least."

 

"Okay …" Blaine sounds uncertain, and scoots the kids out of the way so he can be there, ready if Kurt needs a steady hand, but Kurt's legs work fine, thank-you-very-much. It doesn't feel _good_ , walking, but he can certainly manage it.

 

He's grateful, though, when he reaches the couch, plops down on it with a grunt, closes his eyes to catch his breath. _Why_ did they insist on a brownstone? The stairs have never made him winded before, but he was leaning on the bannister like an 80-year-old – what kind of demon virus _is_ this?

 

"Do you want a blanket?" Blaine asks when he shivers, a chill suddenly shooting down his spine and out through his arms and legs. "And how long has it been since you've taken your temperature?"

 

"Please, and this morning when you did it."

 

Blaine gives him a _look_ , but covers him gently with their old afghan, crocheted by Kurt's grandmother and used for years by his mother. "Mads?" he asks, turning to their daughter. "You know where we keep the thermometer, right?"

 

"Yes, Daddy."

 

"Will you go get it so I can see if Papa still has a fever?"

 

She nods seriously, then runs off to retrieve it while Grayson starts to crawl up into Kurt's lap. Blaine catches him before he can get anywhere, swinging him up into the air.

 

"Not so fast there, buddy, we don't want you getting sick too." He turns their son in his arms and plants a kiss on his forehead before setting him back down. "Papa's kind of germy."

 

Grayson makes a face. " _Ewww_."

 

"Ew is right," Blaine confirms, taking the thermometer from Madison as she comes back into the living room. "Thanks, sweetie."

 

Kurt's fever is back, 101.7 this time, so along with his soup, Blaine brings him a couple more Motrin and a Benadryl. "To help you sleep," he explains. "If you need it."

 

Kurt eats his soup, a delightfully warm chicken noodle, and is exhausted by the time his bowl is empty.

 

"I was hoping I'd be better by tomorrow," he sighs as Blaine tucks him back into bed, "but it's not looking likely."

 

Blaine smiles. "Just rest. Don’t worry about the show, don't worry about us, just worry about getting better. Okay?" He squeezes Kurt's arm comfortingly. "Can I do anything to help?"

 

Kurt starts to shake his head, then stops. "Well, actually …"

 

"Hmm?"

 

"I just sort of feel awful all over. I don't ache, and it's not flu season so I don't think it's that, but … maybe if I could have just a little massage?"

 

"Of course you can," Blaine murmurs, fingers brushing through his unwashed hair. "Let me set the kids up with a movie and I'll be right back, okay?"

 

Blaine's fingers feel heavenly on his burning skin, slick with lavender oil, gently kneading muscles sore from lying in bed too long. He can faintly hear the kids' movie playing in the background, but Blaine's humming above him and that's the only thing he can really focus on as the Benadryl begins to kick in.

 

"This is the best I've felt all day," he mumbles into the pillow, so relaxed he's floppy.

 

"Good," Blaine says, soft and low, and plants kisses on the back of his head. "No germs here, right?"

 

"Hope not," Kurt says, feeling a little like he's floating, and sleep is very close. "Love you."

 

Blaine murmurs his love back, but Kurt barely hears it, slipping deep into a dreamless sleep.

 

* * *

 

Wednesday

The next day, Kurt's worse. The shower he takes to wash off the massage oil from the night before and the general nastiness of laying around in his own viral filth all day is like torture – he leans against the wall the entire time, vacillating between burning with fever and shaking with chills, and he's so weak he can barely lift their new, full shampoo bottle. His chest hurts, too, a dull ache that makes the mere act of breathing kind of a pain in the ass. He takes one look at the rumpled, oily sheets, and wants to cry, then gives up the bed for the couch, taking the stairs slow and steady.

 

Blaine and the kids come home from school that afternoon to find him sleeping, a trail of drool running down his cheek into a little wet circle on the couch cushion, the menu screen of The Sound of Music circling the opening music on loop.

 

"Papa?"

 

Kurt startles awake at the sound of Grayson's voice, sitting up too fast then falling back down again.

 

"Papa, you look like you don't feel good."

 

"No, buddy," he says, "I really don't."

 

Grayson's eyes, a gorgeous emerald that day, fill with tears (they don't technically "know" which one of them is the twins' biological father, but from the moment they were born, it was so obvious – pale, milky skin, silky blond hair just like Kurt had when he was a baby – those children are a hundred percent Hummel.)

 

"I'm sorry, Papa – my drawing didn't help."

 

"No, sweetheart," he says, trying to sound soothing even though his own head's about to burst open, "you made me _feel_ so much better. My body just hasn't quite caught up yet."

 

"Besides," Madison says, sassy as ever, "a _drawing_ can't make somebody not sick anymore, Grayson. It's not _medicine_."

 

"Papa just said it helped him!"

 

" _Madison,"_ Blaine warns, "be nice to your brother, please."

 

"Well it's _true_."

 

Blaine sighs, running a hand through his hair. "You're right. A drawing won't make a virus go away. But," he says, turning to Grayson and crouching in front of him, "it sure can make you feel better when you're sick to know somebody cares about you, right?"

 

Grayson, obviously still upset, nods his head at his sister. "Like when Daddy and Papa stay home with us and watch movies with us and sing us songs. That's not medicine, either."

 

Kurt watches his girl stop and consider this, and oh, he can't wait to see what she's going to become one day. She's strong and _so_ stubborn, (yes, _definitely_ Kurt's child…), but she's level-headed, especially for a 7-year old, and he's so proud of her, of both his kids. Madison's strength, Grayson's gentle spirit.

 

"I guess you're right," she finally concedes. "Sorry if I hurt your feelings, Gray."

 

He looks down at the ground, toes the floor with his shoe. "I guess it's okay."

 

"Excellent. Now, give each other hug and go play for a while so Daddy can take care of Papa," Blaine instructed, pulling both of them close and squeezing them around their shoulders.

 

They trot up the stairs to their tiny bedrooms and Blaine gives him a sympathetic look. "Feel like you've been hit by a bus?"

 

"God, is it that obvious?"

 

"Kind of, yeah," Blaine says, sitting down on the arm of the couch. "What do you need?"

 

"Our bed. Will you strip the sheets and put new ones on it?"

 

"Of course. What else? Have you eaten?"

 

Kurt shakes his head. "I haven't been off the couch all day. I think I peed once."

 

"You aren't getting enough fluid, then," Blaine says worriedly. "Do you want me to stay home with you tomorrow? You need somebody taking care of you."

 

"Don't be ridiculous, Blaine," Kurt groans, dragging himself up off the couch. "The second day's always the worst; I'm sure I'll feel better tomorrow. Those kids need you a lot more than I do."

 

Blaine frowns. "You don't need me?"

 

Kurt sighs. "Don't play hurt puppy with me right now," he says tiredly. "You know that's not what I meant. But I _am_ forty years old; I think I can take care of myself."

 

"I think that should be up for debate if you've only had enough fluid to pee _once_ today, Kurt," Blaine snaps.

 

"Fine. Stay home if you want, but I'll change my own damn sheets," Kurt mutters, stomping toward the stairs as best he can in his weakened state, and Blaine grabs his arm.

 

"Hey. Stop."

 

Kurt turns, staring him down.

 

"Listen, I'm _sorry_ , I'm just worried about you. You kind of look like death warmed over, sweetheart; you're pale and your eyes look sick and you have _bags_ under them and you aren't eating or drinking and – I don't know, I know this is just a stupid virus but you look terrible."

 

"Well, _thanks_. But honestly,I _feel_ terrible," Kurt admits. "Worse than yesterday. But I really think I'll feel better tomorrow, and you know it's true, those kids _do_ need you. If I promise to be a brave little soldier and drink orange juice tomorrow and eat the rest of the soup, will you go teach?"

 

Blaine sighs. "Why am I always such a pushover with you?"

 

"Goes both ways, honey," Kurt says. "You turn on the lovesick puppy eyes, I can't say no to you, you know that."

 

"I guess they come in handy for something," Blaine says, giving him a little smile. "Now, you go back and lie down on the couch and turn on some trashy TV while I change the sheets, and I'll come watch with you in a little bit, okay?"

 

* * *

 

Thursday

Kurt's not wrong.

 

Well – he's not _completely_ wrong. His fever's nearly gone when he wakes the next morning, and he manages to eat a bowl of cereal that Blaine brings him in bed, actually stays awake to read and watch some TV for most of the day, with little cat-naps in between.

 

Grayson looks relieved when he, Blaine and Madison get home that afternoon, and says, "Papa, you look more like _Papa_ today."

 

Kurt smiles, beckons them over, glad that he _looks_ more like himself than he still _feels._ He spends the rest of the night curled on the couch with a blanket, entertained by an impromptu play put on by Blaine and his children. (Blaine is the dragon that gets slayed by the knight and the princess, who is also a knight. Blaine comes to bed with a bruise on his hip from where he landed on the hardwood floor a little too hard, and a small scrape on his arm from where Madison got a little excited shoving her plastic, bedazzled sword between Blaine's arm and ribs. Parenting is dangerous business, sometimes.)

 

* * *

 

Saturday

Another two days and Kurt's back at work, singing for his supper in his supporting role in a new Broadway musical. He's still tired, more than he'd like to admit, but he figures it'll take at least a week until he feels a hundred percent again, and he can't stand to stay away from the stage for that long.

 

It's not quite what he envisioned when they were at McKinley, he's not the lead, he's _never_ been the lead (he _almost_ was, once, landed the lead role, got all the way to dress rehearsals before the money was pulled and the show was cancelled. It was devastating; he'd vacillated between raging and crying for weeks.)

 

But the role he's in now, a strong gay character with a solo and and two duets, he feels solid about, and lead or not, he's _performing_. And it's paying the bills, or at least most of them, which is good because Blaine's job as a middle school music teacher doesn't, really.

 

He's certainly not complaining, because Blaine loves his job – loves it more than he ever did performing. After his debut-turned-two-year-stint in an off-Broadway show, the demands of a performer's schedule overpowered the joy it brought him, and his old dream of "being a Broadway star" lost its luster. The lure of children was strong, too, but no way that was happening with both of them pulling eight shows a week. So he went to grad school, got his Master's of Education, and now spends his days with a bunch of moody middle schoolers, trying to pull music from them. He _loves_ it. Kurt stays constantly perplexed by it, but as long as Blaine's happy, Kurt's happy. And as an extra bonus, his schedule allows him to come watch Kurt perform whenever he wants, and when he's in the audience, Kurt sings only and always for him.

 

Kurt's first night back after being sick, Blaine comes, probably more out of concern than anything, and leaves the kids with Rachel, James and their daughter Cora.

 

Before the show starts, he spots Blaine in the audience, sitting in his normal spot in the first row of the balcony – "I like always being the one you look up to while you're singing," Blaine once told him – and when it comes time for his duet, well, Blaine has to know he's singing directly to him.

 

" _I can't pull away and why would I want to,_

_not when you've captured me, mesmerized, mystified,_

_overnight, it's happening so fast …_

_Please, just let this last."_

 

* * *

 

The first time it happens, it's nothing. He's onstage, halfway through a song when a fluttery feeling overwhelms him, not butterflies, but like his heart has actually grown wings that are flapping up in his throat somewhere. It's unpleasant. It takes his breath a bit.

 

But it's gone as fast as it came on. He waits, nervous through the whole show, for it to happen again, but nothing does. He chalks it up to a random fluke, probably too much coffee that day on top of nerves, and doesn't think of it again.

 

* * *

 

Monday

"Can I have some more eggplant, Mom?" Cora asks.

 

"Sure you can, sweetheart," Rachel smiles as James laughs his rich, booming laugh.

 

" _More_ vegetables, Cora?" he asks, reaching over to feel her forehead. "Are you feeling alright? Has someone abducted my daughter and replaced her with an imposter?

 

"Daddy, _stop_ ," she giggles, embarrassed, swatting his hand away.

 

They're having Monday night dinner, a tradition reborn from the original Hummel household and transplanted to their New York life. Friday dinners turned to Mondays when they all started performing, the only day they were guaranteed to have off. Every week it's their little extended family – Kurt, Blaine and the kids, Rachel, James and Cora – plus whoever else wants to join. Sometimes it's Sam. Sometimes it's Elliott. Occasionally, it's Santana, but that usually ends in in a storm-out or a cat fight – some things never change. Once they had a whole contingent of former Warblers who were in the city for a wedding, and Rachel vowed that never again would she host a dinner party for fifteen people.

 

This Monday, though, it's just the seven of them.

 

They're their own little melting pot, a cornucopia of sorts – Kurt and Blaine and their pale, blonde twins, Rachel, James, his skin dark as Kurt's favorite chocolate bar, 70% cacao, and Cora, their cappuccino-colored girl, hair wild and curly and flying everywhere.

 

"You only like this eggplant because _Kurt_ made it," Blaine teases as he hands Cora the plate, and Cora's eyes grow wide. It's true – she has a _terrible_ 12-year-old crush on her "uncle" Kurt, transfixed with his cooking abilities and his place in the spotlight on a Broadway stage. (It doesn't matter that both her parents are performers as well – Kurt is better than _all_ of them.)

 

"Oh, stop it Blaine," he says, squeezing his husband's arm lightly. "You're embarrassing her. You can have as much eggplant as you want, Cora."

 

" _ThankyouKurt_ ," she mumbles, ducking her head to try and hide her smile. He's kind to her always, remembers what it's like to have crushes on older people, people you'd never in a million years be able to have. She's sweet to the twins, she's a good girl, and he's learned the best ways to be gentle with her. Pre-teen feelings, while entirely ridiculous, are still feelings, after all.

 

James shakes his head at her, smiling, then turns to the twins. "So, what'd you guys learn in school today?"

 

"We talked about money today in math," Grayson says. "Did you know that five dimes is the same thing as two quarters?"

 

James smiles, nodding. "I'll _give_ you two quarters if you can tell me what five pennies makes?"

 

Grayson thinks a moment. "A nickel?"

 

Kurt grins. "Our little math whiz," he says, smiling and bopping the tip of Grayson's nose with his finger.

 

"Well, _I_ got to read out loud in class!" Madison announces, never one to be out-done by her brother.

 

"That's awesome, sweetie, what'd you read?" Rachel asks her.

 

" _Amelia Bedelia and the Baby_ ," she answers. "But it was too _easy_ for me. I wish we'd read something longer."

 

"Mads?" Blaine says gently. "I think it's fantastic that you're reading several years above your level, but let's not gloat about it, okay?"

 

Her face falls a little. "Sorry, Daddy."

 

"It's okay, sweetheart," Kurt tells her. "We're glad that you're proud of yourself – we just don't want you using that to hurt other people's feelings, okay? Some kids don't read as well as you, and some kids don't do math as well as Gray, but that doesn't make them any less important and special, right?"

 

Grayson nods solemnly. "Right, Papa."

 

"Mom?" Cora asks, pushing her empty plate back from the table. "Can I be excused now?"

 

"Sure, sweetie. Just take your plate to the sink, please."

 

"Hey, Cora?" Kurt says as she's getting up, "do you mind taking Grayson and Madison back to your room to play? Give us all some grown-up time?"

 

"Sure!" she grins, then turns away bashfully. "Come on, guys – I got a new game I bet you'll like!"

 

Rachel shakes her head as Cora's bedroom door slams shut behind the kids. "You're gonna break her heart to pieces one of these days."

 

"Just as long as James doesn't break _me_ to pieces …"

 

"Never. You'll let her down soft, I know," James laughs, and shakes his head. "I don't know what we're gonna do with that girl of ours."

 

"Love her," Blaine says simply, getting up to retrieve the bottle of Cabernet he and Kurt brought. "That's all you _can_ do, at least until she gets out of middle school. God, that age …"

 

"I know," Rachel groans. "Sometimes I wonder who took my sweet little girl and replaced her with a hormonal _monster._ I mean, really, _I_ wasn't that bad at twelve."

 

"Oh, Rachel honey, I bet you were _worse_ ," Kurt laughs, and Rachel sticks her tongue out at him. "They're something else, those three kids," Kurt continues, sipping from his glass after Blaine pours it. "I wouldn't be surprised if they ruled the world someday."

 

"Mads would _definitely_ wear that crown," Rachel grins, "no question. That girl is _royalty_."

 

Kurt raises his eyebrows. "You expected something else?"

 

The room grows quiet, and Kurt knows it’s because they’re all reminiscing. It’s amazing, how long they’ve been family - it’s been almost a lifetime since he and Rachel were frenemies, since they grew up and grew out of Lima, since Finn died, since Rachel made a name and a family for herself, and then helped Kurt and Blaine make theirs. He’ll never forget James laughing out loud in the delivery room, deep and rich and booming as Rachel bit down on a scream and pushed out two lily-white babies meant for her friends, one after the other. It's a beautiful mish-mash of a family they make, and Kurt knows how lucky they are to have it.

 

As quickly as it happened, the moment passes and they talk until the wine is gone. Blaine holds up his empty glass and stretches. "Well, I don't know about you guys, but I got up _early_ this morning, and it's getting late."

 

"Okay, Gramps," Rachel laughs, "take your sweater vest and your bowtie and hobble back home with your walker, then."

 

"Meanie," Blaine grins, smacking her lightly on the arm. " _Some_ of us don't have the privilege of staying home with the children."

 

"Oh, come on, just for old times' sake," she begs. "That wasn't the only bottle of wine in this place."

 

* * *

 

It happens again on their way home. Kurt's got Grayson, Blaine has Madison, both twins asleep in their dads' respective arms. They're almost home, on the last several-block stretch of sidewalk, when Kurt sucks in a breath of air and stops walking.

 

"Kurt?" Blaine says, squinting at him through barely tipsy eyes. "You okay?"

 

"Fine," he grunts, shifting Grayson to get a better grip on him. It's a good thing he's light, because Kurt's not entirely sure he'd be able to hold onto him if he were much heavier. "Just – too much wine?"

 

His heart's flapping like a raven's wings up near his Adam's apple somewhere, and he can't quite catch his breath. He's a little dizzy, tries not to sway on his feet. Blaine squints at him, and blessedly, it stops. He takes a deep, careful breath, then smiles.

 

"See?" he says, walking forward again. "I'm fine."

 

* * *

 

But as the following week unfolds, it seems Kurt's not as fine as he wants to believe. He's feeling sick again, almost feels feverish even though his temperature is normal. The fluttery feeling comes more often and lasts longer, and by the following Friday, it's happening more than once a day. He's having to stop what he's doing, focus on breathing, pray the dizziness doesn't turn into something more. He's also _exhausted_. Getting out of bed in the mornings is a battle of wills, and the energy it takes for him to do the show – he's pushing through, but barely.

 

During his Friday night show, he actually has to sit down in a chair onstage, completely unscripted. Luckily he's not singing, so it's not obvious that his breath has just been stolen from him, but it's still _terrifying_. He's been performing with Jackson long enough that they both just go with it, manage to improv through the scene, but the director snags him as soon as he walks backstage, demanding to know what's going on. He's just thankful that Blaine's not there that night, because he manages to lie to his director – his ankle gave out a little; he twisted it earlier stepping wrong off a curb – but his husband? Blaine would _never_ buy that story.

 

He gets home late that night and clings to a sleeping Blaine's hand. He stares up at the ceiling, tries to talk himself down.

 

He's just pushing too hard. Between eight shows a week and the kids' schedule and everything else going on, never really having gotten over that virus, he just needs a break. He'll take the weekend off, let Isaiah have the spotlight for three shows. He just needs to rest, that's all.

 

It's nothing. He's sure of it.

 

* * *

 

Saturday

"Papa?" Grayson asks as Kurt puts together their sandwiches for lunch, "it's Saturday. You're never home for lunchtime on Saturdays. Are you going to work?"

 

"Nope. I took the day off today, bud," he says, crouching down to smile at his son. "I wanted to spend some time with you guys. That okay?"

 

Grayson's face breaks into a grin, and he runs away, screaming through the house, " _Papa's home, Papa's home, Papa's home_!"

 

"I don't think Papa ever left," Blaine says, a little confused as he walks into the kitchen. "Which is weird, because Papa _should've_ left about twenty minutes ago …"

 

"I just told him I was taking the day off," Kurt tells him, leaning to peck a kiss on his cheek, "and I'm doing chicken salad sandwiches for lunch if that's okay."

 

"Sounds perfect," Blaine grins. "Your day off _and_ the sandwiches. When were you going to tell me?"

 

"I wanted it to be a surprise," Kurt says, slicing the crust off the kids' bread. "I just wanted a weekend with my family." He turns around with the plate of sandwiches in hand and nearly runs it into Blaine's chest he's standing so close. Blaine takes the plate, sets it back on the counter, and pulls Kurt to him, chest-to-chest.

 

"I love you," he says, his eyes hazel pools of honey, and threads his fingers through the soft, short hair on the back of Kurt's head.

 

Kurt smiles. "I love you, too," he said, and meets Blaine's lips in a chaste kiss that turns not-so-chaste after a moment.

 

" _Ewwwww_!" Kurt hears eventually, lost in the kiss, in the soft noises Blaine's making. " _Gross_!"

 

"It's not gross," Blaine says to the kids, pulling away from the kiss, but leaving his arms around Kurt's body. "Daddy loves Papa. You should be happy about that. There are lots of kids out there whose parents don't even _like_ each other."

 

"Your _tongue_ was in Papa's _mouth_ ," Madison says. "That's _gross_ , Daddy."

 

Kurt grins. "Let her keep thinking that for a while. But don't expect us to _stop_ , Mads, just 'cause it's gross."

 

She runs out of the room screeching, and Grayson's quick to follow behind her.

 

"You're brilliant," Blaine grins, and mouths at Kurt's neck.

 

Kurt laughs softly, tilting his head to give Blaine better access, his hands squeezing around Blaine's waist. "My methods might be unorthodox, but they're effective."

 

Blaine works his way up the side of Kurt's throat, over his jaw, and lands just in front of his ear. "You know," he murmurs, "we could always drop the kids off at Rachel's, and have _husband_ time today …"

 

He's about to say a definitive _yes_ to that plan when the horrible feeling comes over him again, and he pulls away. "We have," he says, trying not to sound winded, "an _agenda_ to stick to."

 

"Oh?" Blaine says, sounding coy.

 

_Fuck_ his cockblocking heart, or whatever the hell's wrong with him. Maybe he should see a doctor on Monday …

 

"And what _agenda_ would that be?"

 

"Well," Kurt says, playing it cool although he feels like he might fall over at any second, "I thought we'd eat lunch and then have an outing. Maybe a stop by the library and then a walk in the park or something?" If he _can_ walk by then, that is…

 

"Maybe we can get the kids ice cream on the way home," Blaine says. "They've been so good lately."

 

Kurt smiles. "They'd love that. And maybe tomorrow we can pawn them off on Rachel and James and have lazy Sunday husband time."

 

Blaine grins. "Well, when you put it like that …"

 

"Want to go get them for me? Lunch is ready."

 

As soon as Blaine leaves the room, Kurt leans over the counter and gasps for breath. It's the first time his chest has _hurt_ with it before, and it scares him to death. _Please stop_ , he whispers to himself, _please don't let this ruin my day_ …

 

The pain gradually subsides, and he's able to breathe again. He's _definitely_ seeing a doctor on Monday.

 

* * *

 

"I love the li-bary, Papa," Grayson sighs happily, squeezing Kurt's hand as they wander toward the children's section while Blaine takes the list of "grown-up" books they want and heads in that direction.

 

"It's li- _brary_ , Gray," Madison chides him, "with an _r_."

 

Kurt shakes his head, wonders if his girl will ever stop being so bossy, then resigns himself to the fact that she's _his_ daughter and the answer to that is probably no. He has no idea where Grayson's gentleness comes from; maybe their egg donor was sweet as a lamb.

 

"You guys can each pick five books to take home, okay?" Kurt says, letting go of their hands and allowing them to wander. He's so glad that he and Blaine started reading to them at an early age; they both love books and Madison's reading level is off the charts. They have to watch her – they try not to limit the books she reads, but they at least like to read them first so they know what kind of content they'll get questions about.

 

Grayson, on the other hand, is content to stick with shorter, easier books more on his level, and leave the harder reading for Madison or Kurt or Blaine to read _to_ him – they're halfway through the second Harry Potter book now; Madison's even started doing voices to go along with the characters. Her Hagrid voice is about the most amusing thing Kurt's ever heard.

 

"Papa!" Grayson says, beckoning for him. "Do you think I could read this?"

 

He holds up a book, _Frog and Toad are Friends_ , and Kurt smiles. "I'm _sure_ you can read that, Gray. It looks longer, but it has five shorter stories inside, so you can read them one at a time if you want. That looks like a great choice for you."

 

Grayson beams, and Madison runs over, carrying an armful of books. "Papa, why can we only get _five_?"

 

He laughs, holding out his hands, trying to keep the pile of books from falling to the floor. "Because we have to be able to keep up with them long enough to bring them all back, sweetie. Let's see what you've got here – I can help you cull."

 

"What's _cull_ mean, Papa?" Grayson asks.

 

"Cull means to cut back, or to choose a few things from a larger group. So, Mads has eight books here, and we can only keep five."

 

"She needs to take three away," Grayson says proudly, and Kurt smiles.

 

"That's exactly right," he says. "So, that's what it means to cull something – to take some things away."

 

"Cull," Madison repeats quietly, and Kurt can see her storing it in her mental dictionary. They're so _smart_ , his children …

 

He shuffles through her pile of books, and shakes his head at _Number the Stars_. "Not yet on this one, sweetie. Let's wait until at least next year, okay?"

 

She pouts. "But it won an _award_ , see?" she says, pointing to the gold Newbery seal on the cover. "It _has_ to be good."

 

"I didn't say it's not good," Kurt tells her, "you just aren't quite old enough to read it. Next year, when you get in third grade, I promise."

 

She harrumphs, and holds up the next one. "Well is _this_ one okay?"

 

He barely hears her. His heart's started that funny thing again, his chest hurts like this morning. But he instantly feels worse, like something's different this time.

 

"Papa? Are you paying attention to –"

 

"Mads?" he says, interrupting her. "We need to find Daddy. Papa doesn't feel so good."

 

"Are you gonna throw up?" Grayson asks, looking worried.

 

"No," Kurt says, trying to focus on breathing. There's nothing wrong with his lungs, he _can_ breathe, but it's not enough, he doesn't feel like he can get enough oxygen …

 

"Papa?" Madison says, her eyes growing wide.

 

"Madison. We need to find Daddy," he repeats, his hands shaking. "Now."

 

"Papa," she says quietly, clearly terrified. She drops her books on the floor, grabs Kurt's hand. " _Daddy_?" she calls, tugging Kurt forward. " _Daddy_!"

 

Kurt's stumbling after her, glances back to see Grayson huddled near the bookshelf with his knees tucked under his chin, his eyes closed.

 

" ** _Daddy_!!** "

 

They're almost to the front of the library where the desk is, she's pulling him around the tables, toward the librarian, when he spots Blaine rushing toward them, looking panicked. He can't breathe. He _can't_ , he feels _awful_ , his heart doing weird, slow somersaults, chest aching, weird colored lights are spotting in his vision, what is _happening_ to him? He's terrified, panting, gasping for breath as he stumbles forward a few feet more.

 

"Blaine …" he breathes, the word barely even coming out audibly, and he stops.

 

He's going to pass out.

 

He reaches out, for what he doesn't even know, and everything goes black.

 

* * *

 

Blaine's browsing around the shelves, looking for all the books on the list Kurt's compiled, when he hears it.

 

" _Daddy_?"

 

There's no mistaking it, that's Madison's voice. He freezes for a moment, hears her again, " _Daddy_!" She sounds terrified.

 

He takes off, sprinting toward her scared calls, wondering a bit frantically where Kurt has gone. He bursts out of the stacks into the open lobby, sees Madison's open face, her hand clutching Kurt's, who she's practically dragging behind her.

 

Blaine sees what looks like his name on Kurt's lips. And then hell opens up. Kurt collapses.

 

He just falls, goes limp like a ragdoll, hits his head on a table on the way down. Blaine can't run fast enough.

 

"Kurt. _Kurt_ ," he says, his voice hollow with fear as he skids to the ground, the skin on his knees scraping against the carpet, stinging. He shakes Kurt's shoulder wildly. " _Kurt_ , babe, come on, wake up."

 

He hears the librarian, a nice, blonde man who's always friendly to them, call out to someone to call 911, then he plops beside him, looking equally as scared. "What happened?"

 

"I don't know, he fell, right in front of me, I don't –" Blaine stutters. Madison is sobbing beside him, clutching Kurt's hand, her face buried in his stomach.

 

" _Wake up_!" she's screaming into his shirt. " _Papa, wake up_!"

 

"Is he breathing?" the librarian asks.

 

"I – I don't –"

 

"Check his pulse. I'm going to go get the AED," the librarian tells him. "We have one behind the desk – stay with him. Do CPR if you know how."

 

Everything's moving in slow motion. "Kurt," Blaine chokes, his voice thick with shock and impending tears. "Kurt …" Helplessly, he looks down at Kurt's chest. It's not rising, not falling, not _moving_. And just like that, his brain kicks into gear. He presses his fingers over the hollow on the side of Kurt's neck and – nothing. His heart drops to his stomach and he bends, seals his lips over Kurt's like he has a thousand times before, but this time's different. This time, he breathes.

 

By the time the librarian is sprinting back, AED in hand, Blaine's pumping on Kurt's chest, hasn't the slightest idea if he's doing it right or not. Madison's screaming at the top of her lungs, one long wail that seems like it will never end. If Kurt ever wakes up, Blaine's going to _kill_ him for doing this in front of the kids.

 

Kids … _Wait_ , he thinks, panicking. _Where's Grayson_?

 

It's like a nightmare that won't end.

 

The librarian shoves him out of the way, rips Kurt's shirt open, sticks the pads on his chest.

 

The machine starts beeping. _Beep_. A pause. _Beep beep_. A longer pause. _Beep_.

 

"Is – is that his heart?"

 

"I don't know," the librarian told him. "I – it's not shocking him. It's supposed to shock him."

 

Blaine surges forward, feels Kurt's neck for a pulse again. He feels it this time, barely, it's too slow and not regular, just random little beats every now and then. Kurt's lips are beginning to look ashen.

 

"The ambulance is coming," the librarian tries to assure him, but he throws off the hand that the man puts on his shoulder.

 

" _Kurt_!" he bellows, starts pumping his chest again, tears beginning to cloud his vision. "Wake _up_ , dammit, _breathe_ –"

 

He looks up for a second, still pumping Kurt's chest, glares at the librarian. "My kids. Madison and Grayson. I need them together so we can leave when the ambulance does."

 

A group of people has crowded around him now, watching his desperate, panicked attempts to save his husband. He catches the children's librarian, a short, slight woman, out of the corner of his eye, Grayson's hand clutched in her own.

 

He looks back down at Kurt, and a sob escapes from his throat as he sees Kurt's chest rise. A breath.

 

After what seems like _years_ , he finally hears sirens approaching. Kurt has a pulse, though it's still horrifyingly slow and not regular, and he's breathing, also slowly and not regularly. Blaine feels a little like he might throw up as the paramedics push him aside to get to Kurt, sticking an IV in his arm, putting little stickers with wires attached to them alongside the AED patches.

 

Blaine watches helplessly as they load Kurt into the back of the ambulance, tell him what hospital they're going to, and shut the doors.

 

He's shaking like a leaf when he walks back into the library, the children's librarian holding both his kids in her lap.

 

"Where's Papa?" Madison asks, her voice cracking all over the place. "Where did they take him?"

 

"They took him to the hospital, baby," Blaine says, suddenly exhausted, completely overwhelmed with what just happened to them. "They're gonna make him better."

 

"I saw you pushing on Papa's chest," Grayson sniffles. "Does that mean he's dead?"

 

Blaine has to hold onto the doorframe to keep from falling over. "No, Gray," he says, and god, he needs to find a trashcan to puke in in a second, "his heart was beating. He's not dead."

 

"Is there anyone we can call for you?" the librarian who got the AED asks him, coming up to him nervously.

 

Blaine shakes his head. "I just need to get to him."

 

"I'll get you a cab," the librarian says, and runs outside to flag someone down for them.

 

Blaine scoops up Grayson and Madison and walks outside, somehow manage to tell the cab driver where they're going, and rides in stunned silence the entire way there.

 

* * *

 

It's chaos in the Emergency Department. They won't let Blaine back to see Kurt while they're working on him, so he's left to try to hold it together in a family waiting area while his kids fall completely to pieces on him.

 

"Daddy, he's gonna die and we won't even get to see him," Madison wails from his arms as Grayson hides under a chair, sobbing into his knees again. "They have to let us see him!"

 

He's about to lose it and he knows it; he can't keep them quiet and hold his own sanity at the same time. He pulls out his phone, looks at the time – 3:00, Rachel should be home with Cora from her dance class by now.

 

"Rach," he says when she picks up on the second ring, and he can tell by her tone that she knows something's wrong.

 

"Blaine?"

 

"I – I'm at the hospital, I need you to get the kids. Kurt – I think –"

 

"Blaine, honey, I'm headed out the door right now – talk to me. What happened?"

 

"He – he had a heart attack or something at the library, they haven't told me anything – Rachel, I can't –"

 

"Oh god," she chokes, making him reconsider his choice of emergency contact, because if Rachel falls apart too, where does that leave any of them? But he hears her take a breath, and her voice comes out rock solid. "Okay," she says, "tell me where you are and I'll be there as soon as I can."

 

* * *

 

It's not fifteen minutes before Rachel's hurrying into the waiting area, pale-faced and out of breath. She finds them huddled together in one chair, the kids hanging onto Blaine like little monkeys, crying on him. He looks up at her, completely helpless, shockwaves of _pain_ emanating from his body into the room with every beat of his heart.

 

"Oh, _Blaine_ ," Rachel says, face contorting with her efforts not to cry, and she bends and puts her arms around the three of them. He nearly loses it then and there, but manages for just a few moments longer.

 

"Rach, please – the kids – I know you want to stay, too, but –" He bites down on his lip, hard. "It was a bad day. Take them home? Please?"

 

"And if I leave, what will you do?" she says, a watery smile on her face as she cups his cheek. "Who's going to take care of you?"

 

"Rach," and he's _begging_ now, " _please_."

 

She looks at him with pity in her eyes, and normally it makes him crazy when she does that but he'll take what he can get at the moment. "I've got to get back to Cora, anyway – I left her there by herself." She holds out her hands for Grayson and Madison. "Come on, guys," she says gently. "We're going back to Aunt Rachel and Uncle James's house – I bet Cora will even let you play with her stuff."

 

"But I want to stay here with _Daddy_ ," Grayson cries, burying his face in Blaine's shoulder. "I don't want to go with _you_."

 

Blaine's pretty sure that while Kurt's heart might have quit on him, his own will just split right open before this day is over, pouring all his lifeblood out onto the floor. "Gray, listen to me," he says, taking a deep breath. "Daddy can't look after you and Mads _and_ Papa at the same time. Daddy needs to give Papa his undivided attention to help him get better, so will you let me do that? Will you be so brave and go home with Aunt Rachel for me?"

 

"Come on, Gray," Madison says, holding out her hand for him. "It's okay." She sniffles, wipes her nose with her sleeve, hops up out of the chair and goes to Rachel. "Let's let Daddy take care of Papa like he said."

 

It's almost too much to take, his little girl taking care of her brother after the trauma they'd all been through.

 

Grayson gives Blaine one last hug. "Do you think …"

 

"What, bud?" Blaine asks, unsure if he can take another 'is Papa going to die?' question.

 

"Do you think that when Papa gets better, we can go get ice cream? He promised we would get ice cream this afternoon."

 

Rachel answers for him. "You can have all the ice cream you want when Papa gets better," she says, wiping tears from her eyes. "In fact, I think there's a big tub of chocolate ice cream in my freezer right now, and I _bet_ that Uncle James and Cora would both be happy to share it with you until you can eat some with Papa. What do you think?"

 

Grayson contemplates this a moment. "Okay," he says. "But – Daddy, promise you'll take good care of him, okay?"

 

"Cross my heart," Blaine swears, tears sticking in his eyelashes and making everything blurry.

 

"Okay, come on, kiddos, let's go," Rachel says, visibly tearing herself away from Blaine, and the promise of news. "Ice cream and movies await."

 

"I'll call you later," Blaine promises his babies, cups their faces in his hands and kisses them both. "Daddy might need to stay in the hospital with Papa tonight, but I promise, even if that happens, I'll call and tell you both goodnight."

 

This sets off a fresh set of tears, but Rachel manages to get them all out the door after a quick, tight hug and peck on Blaine's cheek.

 

He sinks back down in the chair, alone with his thoughts now. He's waiting to wake up, knows a day like this _has_ to be a nightmare, can't _possibly_ be real. He shifts in the chair, closes his eyes, pinches the tender skin on his hipbone hard. The skin that Kurt was just kissing over that morning in their bed, teasing him before they got up.

 

It leaves an angry red spot on his skin. It's not a dream, then, and he kind of wants to die.

 

* * *

 

Blaine's not sure how long he's been waiting when a sick, sinking feeling comes over him. He hasn't called anyone else, not his parents, not Carole, not Burt; oh _god_ , he has to tell _Burt_.

 

His phone weighs twenty pounds in his hand as he stares down at his father-in-law's number on the screen. How is he supposed to do this? Tell Kurt's father that his own son has been stricken with the same bad heart as he was, tell him that Kurt's in a hospital bed, that Blaine has no idea what his status is? He's honestly a little worried that it'll throw Burt into another heart attack of his own.

 

But it's not like he _can't_ tell him, so he dials the number and swallows hard.

 

"Hey, kiddo," Burt answers, and his voice sounds so warm on the phone that Blaine breaks down in tears before he even says anything.

 

"Oh god. Is it Kurt? Or one of the twins?" He pauses as Blaine gasps into the phone. "Blaine, pull it together for a second – what's going on? What happened?"

 

"Kurt," he gasps around a sob, bites on his fist. "He – I think he had a heart attack?" Burt's silent, and Blaine doesn't know what else to do but keep talking. "I don't know for sure, they haven't told me yet, but he collapsed in the library, right in front of me – I did CPR on him –"

 

"Shit, Blaine," Burt breathes, and Blaine feels sick all over again.

 

"The kids were there," he says, swallowing down a throat full of bile. "I – Burt, it was _horrible_ –"

 

"At least you were there – thank god you were there…" Burt's voice is tight; Blaine can tell he's fighting tears.

 

"I just hope it was enough. I –" He can't continue; the tears are coming to fast. Even to _himself_ , he sounds like a wounded animal. But he's not alone – Burt's begun to cry with him, quietly gasping and panicked on the other end of the phone. He can just hear Carole's voice, can't quite make out what she's saying.

 

"Blaine, honey, oh god …" She's taken the phone from Burt; her own voice is shaking. "Have they let you see him?"

 

"No," he says, sniffling. "I guess they're still working on him …"

 

"Okay. Okay, sweetie, god, I know you're scared – are you by yourself?" she asks, and now all three of them are a crying mess.

 

"Yeah, Rachel took the kids home with her," Blaine says, tipping his head back, trying to breathe. He still can't believe he's here. Things like this happen to other people, not them, not their beautiful family …

 

"Okay, _shhh_ , sweetie, it's okay," Carole tries to comfort him, still crying herself. "We'll be there as soon as we – Oh, honey, Burt wants you back …"

 

"Blaine," Burt's shaky voice comes through, "I never –" He stops, pauses, Blaine can hear him breathing. "I just –" Burt's never at a loss for words like this, and it rocks Blaine to his core. "I appreciate what you did, no matter what happens," he manages to get out; it sounds like the words are physically painful. "You – I know you did everything you could, I –" He swallows. "Just – take care of him, until we can get there and help. I – I've been on the other side of that, and it's so scary, just – try not to leave him alone –"

 

"Of course," Blaine says, "of course I'd never leave him, god, they'll have to pry me off him with a crowbar once they let me back there –"

 

"I know," Burt says, his voice a little less teary but entirely helpless, and the world is a seriously fucked up place when Burt Hummel sounds like this. "I'm sorry, I know you wouldn't, Blaine."

 

"I promise," he says, manages to choke out a pained, "love you," and feels worse after he hangs up than he did before he called. He can't get the image of Kurt, lying lifeless on the library floor, out of his mind. His arms are sore from doing chest compressions – no one should _ever_ have to do CPR on their _husband –_ and the sirens are screaming in a constant loop inside his head.

 

It's too much. The nausea is overwhelming, too intense to hold at bay. Stomach lurching, he stands, walks across the room to the end table in the corner, pulls the small trashcan out from under it, sinks to his knees, and heaves up the lunch Kurt had prepared for them earlier that day.

 

He doesn't feel any better when it's over, and the horrible, sour taste left in his mouth makes him gag again.

 

"Mr. Hummel?"

 

He looks up, stomach still churning, to see a doctor in scrubs standing in the doorway.

 

"Mr. Hummel's husband," he says weakly. "Blaine Anderson."

 

"I'll get someone to take care of that," he says, motioning to the can that Blaine was just sick in. "Would you like some water, or maybe some ice chips?"

 

Blaine breathes long and slow, in through his nose, out through his mouth, and stumbles to the nearest chair. "Ice chips would be great, thanks."

 

A few minutes later, the doctor's back with a cup of ice, a spoon sticking out of it, and a wet washcloth in his hand. "Compliments of the nurses," he says, placing the cloth on the back of Blaine's neck. "I'm Dr. Chen."

 

"You're taking care of Kurt?" Blaine asks, forcing a piece of ice into his mouth in spite of the nausea.

 

"While he's in the emergency room, yes."

 

"Please, before you say anything else, just tell me first – is he alive? I just – please tell me you could keep him alive."

 

"He's alive, Mr. Anderson," the doctor says. "Heart never stopped beating."

 

"Oh thank god," he breathes, the air rushing out of his lungs. "So, how bad was it? Are you gonna have to do open heart surgery? Will you – oh god – does he have a lot of blockages?"

 

The doctor smiles. "Well, actually, it appears that your husband didn't have a heart attack at all. His cardiac cath came back completely clear, no blockages at all."

 

"He – _what_?"

 

"Your husband is experiencing something called AV heart block," the doctor explains.

 

"I – I've never heard of that," Blaine says. "Is it bad? Is it worse than a heart attack?"

 

"It can be bad, yes," Dr. Chen tells him. "His heart was beating dangerously slowly, and he was also experiencing something called atrial fibrillation, which is an irregular rhythm of the top chambers of your heart. We've inserted what's called an internal pacer to regulate the rhythm, and only time will tell if he'll need a permanent one or not."

 

"I – okay. Where is he? Is he still down here? Can I see him?"

 

"He's here, but not for long. We're about to transfer him to the cardiac care unit, and you can see him once he gets to his room there. We're still trying to determine exactly _why_ he's having heart block, so I've got some questions for you –"

 

"Wait, questions for _me_?" Blaine asks, immediately picking up on what the doctor says. "Why don't you have questions for _him_?"

 

"Your husband hasn't regained consciousness yet," Dr. Chen says carefully. "We –"

 

"Does that mean he's in a _coma_?" Blaine demands.

 

"His body has been through a lot of stress," the doctor says, not actually answering Blaine's question. "And – hopefully you can tell me this – did he hit his head when he collapsed earlier today?"

 

"I –" Blaine tries to think back, to rack his brain. He closes his eyes, replays the whole thing in his head. He eats another ice chip when his stomach turns again. "Yeah," he says, opening his eyes. "On the corner of a table."

 

"Okay. We've done CT scan that was inconclusive, which means there's a good chance he has a concussion. If his symptoms persist, though, the intensivist who will be managing his case might order an MRI to make sure there's no bleeding."

 

"Bleeding – oh god," Blaine says, feeling weak-kneed again. "Please, when can I see him?"

 

"As soon as he's settled in his ICU bed. We'll have someone come get you. I _do_ need to ask you a few things in the meantime, though."

 

"Anything."

 

"Is he taking any cardiac medications? For blood pressure or anything at all?"

 

Blaine looks at him blankly. "No, he never has, his blood pressure's always been fine, his _heart_ has always been fine – why?"

 

"Sometimes medication levels can get out of whack, and that can be a cause of heart block," Dr. Chen explains, then continues. "Any history of autoimmune disease, sarcoidosis, Lev's disease?"

 

"I – no, he's perfectly healthy, I –"

 

"What about family history? Any heart disease, autoimmune, same types of things?"

 

"Um … my father-in-law had a heart attack caused by an arrhythmia, but you said –"

 

They're interrupted when a nurse peeks her head in the door. "Dr. Chen? I'm sorry to interrupt, but can I borrow you for just a second? The labs are back."

 

Blaine hangs his head between his knees as the doctor excuses himself, trying to process the hell he finds himself in. It's been a nightmare of a day, surreal in every sense of the word. It's not long before Dr. Chen reenters the room, a grimmer look on his face.

 

"Oh god," Blaine says, "what happened?"

 

"Has he been sick in the last few weeks?" Dr. Chen asks, once again not answering Blaine's question. "Virus, infection, fever, anything?"

 

"He – yeah, maybe a week and a half ago? It was a weird virus, not like a cold exactly, more like a weird flu, but it's _July_ – he had a fever, body aches, felt like a truck hit him," Blaine says. "He – he's seemed tired, run-down ever since …"

 

"His labs and tests are pointing to myocarditis, which is an inflammation of the heart muscle," Dr. Chen says. "They're doing an echo – an ultrasound of his heart – right now to determine its level of function, and then he'll go straight to ICU."

 

Blaine bites his lip. He's never heard of myocarditis, of _any_ of it, but none of it sounds good.

 

"I'm sorry to leave you, but I have to go get him transferred," Dr. Chen says. "Someone will be here to bring you to him once he's settled."

 

The doctor's almost out the door when Blaine stops him. "Wait," he says, "please, just one more thing – is he going to survive this?"

 

"I don't ever like to speak in absolutes, Mr. Anderson," Dr. Chen says. "Anything can happen at anytime."

 

Blaine's face falls.

 

"But," the doctor continues, "we will do our very best to see that he does. I like my patients living. And if it makes you feel better, he's stable right now. Much more stable than he could be."

 

Blaine nods. It's the most he can hope for at the moment.


	2. Chapter 2

It's another hour before someone comes to get him, but it may as well be a day. Time doesn't seem real anymore, just a constant state of waiting.

 

The waiting's over, it seems, when a tired-looking nurse appears in the doorway. "Family of Kurt Hummel?"

 

Blaine pops out of his chair like a jack-in-the-box.

 

"Follow me," she says, and walks down the hall, much slower than Blaine would like.

 

"This is where he'll be until discharge, more than likely," the nurse is explaining when they come to a large set of double doors. "When you come to visit, ring the doorbell on the outside, tell our unit secretary who you are, and we'll let you in, okay?"

 

Blaine nods, not really hearing anything she's just said. "Are you taking care of him?"

 

She shakes her head as she holds her badge over a little box and the doors open. "No. Paul has you guys today."

 

She directs him where to go and it's all he can do to keep from sprinting to Kurt's bedside. He nearly stops in his tracks, though, when he sees a _gorgeous_ 20-something-year-old man in scrubs bending over his husband, doing something with what looks like some sort of IV.

 

"Um," he says lamely.

 

The man looks up, smiles. "Hi! You must be Mr. Hummel's husband – I'm Paul. I'm taking care of you guys, till eleven tonight. Come see him – I hear you've had a pretty awful day."

 

Fantastic. He's gorgeous _and_ he's nice. If Kurt ever _does_ wake up ( _when,_ Blaine. _When_ ) he's going to fall in love and run off with his heroic ICU nurse. That's just perfect.

 

And then gorgeous nurse Paul stands up the rest of the way and Blaine only has eyes for his husband.

 

"Oh my god," he whispers, the whole of gravity's force pulling him to the chair next to Kurt's bed. "Kurt – oh my god, look at you –" His voice is cracking all over the place, there are tears coming to his eyes, he's not supposed to fall apart like this, but _Kurt_ –

 

His eyes are closed, his hair a complete disaster, his skin a bit paler than normal, still. There are wires going every which way. There's an IV in his neck. In his _neck_ , tubes sticking out like a tangle of spaghetti. Blaine can't stop staring at it. He instinctively grabs Kurt's hand, and panics.

 

"His ring. Where's his ring?" he asks, eyes wide.

 

"I'm sorry, here," Paul says, walking over to the couch in the room and holding up a clear plastic bag. "Everything he had on him is in here. His ring's in a smaller clear plastic bag – I put it in his wallet just so you wouldn't lose it."

 

Blaine nods, shaken, takes the bag from him and digs through it until he finds the ring. Hands trembling, he puts it on his right hand, grateful that their fingers are close to the same size. It registers to him that Kurt's pants, bypassed on the way to find the ring, are _ruined_ , cut straight up the middle of the legs. Apparently those doctor shows they like to watch do get a few things right. Kurt's going to hunt down whoever was wielding those scissors if he ever wakes up …

 

"I know it's scary, the first time you see all this," Paul says kindly, passing Blaine a box of tissues. "Let me explain what everything is. It helps, I think, to know."

 

He goes through a laundry list of leads and monitors and IVs and the internal pacer threaded into a major vein, running into Kurt's _heart,_ keeping it beating normally for the moment. He explains that it's a victory in and of itself that Kurt isn't requiring oxygen, that he could so easily be intubated, whatever that means, and on a breathing machine, but he's not. He talks about medicines Blaine's never heard of, then goes to get the doctor, who tells him in language Blaine barely understands that Kurt isn't in heart failure but that his condition could change and they're monitoring him closely. Blaine feels like he's run headlong into a brick wall after it's all said and done.

 

"I know that was a lot all at once," Paul tells him after the doctor leaves Kurt's room. "What questions do you have for me?"

 

What questions? There are a billion questions, as many questions as stars in the sky, but somehow they won't surface, won't come out his mouth.

 

Paul looks at him, empathy in his eyes. "Do you need a minute?"

 

"I – by myself? But his heart, what if –"

 

"We have remote monitoring at the front desk where we can watch all our patients. All those numbers and waveforms up there?" Paul says, pointing to Kurt's cardiac monitor. "I'll be able to see all of it. If anything happens, I'll know. I can go, if you need me to."

 

Blaine just stares at him. It's like he can't remember how to think, doesn't know what to feel. He's beginning to truly understand what the term "shell-shocked" really means.

 

Paul smiles at him, pulls up a chair next to his. "Listen. He's stable. I'll be right out here. I don't want you to feel like I'm abandoning you with your sick husband or anything, it's just – I don't know, if it were my boyfriend in here? There are things I'd want to say to him without a nurse in the room. Without an audience. I'd like to give you the chance to do that, if that's something you need."

 

"But he – can he even hear me, you think?"

 

"Probably. I can't say for sure, but lots of people who are unconscious come back and remember what people said to them. I've been talking to him since he got here. It couldn't hurt, right?"

 

Blaine nods slowly, head bobbing up, down, up, down. "Okay."

 

"Okay," Paul says, squeezes his shoulder for a brief moment. "I'll be back in ten." He pulls the curtain around the bed, walks out of the room, shuts the sliding plexiglass door behind him, and they're alone. Blaine immediately has to fight back tears.

 

He takes Kurt's hand, holds it in between both of his. It's a little cool. He slides a finger down Kurt's thumb to his wrist, feels Kurt's pulse, now strong under his skin.

 

He can do this.

 

"Hey, you," he says, his voice more wobbly than he wishes it were. "I'm here, okay? I'm sorry I haven't been the whole time, but they wouldn't let me back. The kids are with Rachel, so you don't have to worry about them. They were pretty shaken up before they left, but you know Mads, she did that grow-up-in-front-of-your-eyes thing, took care of Gray – you'd be so proud of them." He dabs his eyes with a tissue.

 

"You know, you should really start thinking about waking up soon. Your nurse, Paul? The guy who's been talking to you? I'm afraid I'll have a run for my money, once your eyes open. _God,_ he's pretty, and your type, too. But he's way too young for both of us, and apparently he has a boyfriend, and –" Blaine stops.

 

"What am I even talking about?"

 

He gets up out of his chair, walks around Kurt's bed, looks up at the monitors.

 

"Seriously, though, Kurt, any minute now would be great. I'm starting to feel crazy, talking to you like this. Although I guess I should enjoy it while I can, no snarky responses. Like, that cardigan that you totally shot down the other day? I actually _did_ like it. And my idea for a Disney medley at school? They're _middle schoolers_ , Kurt, they don't need _sophisticated_ things –"

 

He looks down at the bed, watches the slow, steady rise and fall of Kurt's chest. "I'm sorry. God, look at me, trying to pick a fight with my comatose husband. I – you have a comeback in there, I _know_ you do, just – Kurt. Wake up. Please?"

 

He sits back down in the chair. "I actually cannot believe that this is really happening."

 

He takes Kurt's hand again, holds it to his cheek. He sits like that for a while, Kurt's lifeless hand cupping his face. He kisses each of Kurt's fingers, kisses his palm, feels his pulse again. It's the only thing holding him together right now – Kurt's heart is beating, Kurt is _alive_.

 

Blaine gently sets Kurt's arm back down on the bed, bends over him. Carefully brushing his fingertips over his face, he lowers his lips to press a soft kiss to Kurt's temple. "Does this work like Sleeping Beauty?" he murmurs. "If I kiss you enough, will you wake up?"

 

Kurt doesn't move.

 

Blaine can't stay still.

 

At first he's afraid to touch Kurt, but he's not going to _break_ , the chest compressions he did earlier didn't break him ( _oh god, don't think about that Blaine_ ), so he thinks as long as he doesn't touch anything _important_ … He frets over Kurt, straightening his hospital gown, his blankets, being very careful to avoid any wire or tube protruding from Kurt's body. He tries to wrangle Kurt's hair into a more acceptable appearance with his fingers to no avail.

 

"God, Kurt, you'd die if you saw what your hair looked like right now."

 

He chuckles to himself, then chokes back a sob that unexpectedly rises in his throat.

 

"Don't – that was – bad choice of words. As usual," he says. "Please don't die." He sinks back in the chair by Kurt's bed, pillows his head on the mattress next to Kurt's hip. "Please don't _die_ , _please_ don't die, god" he breathes, unable to stop the tears that flow out of him like raindrops. "I can't do this by myself. Please – Kurt, you can't leave me like this, not like _this_ , _please_ come through this, I _can't_ –"

 

He's not supposed to cry right now, he knows that. If Kurt can hear him –

 

But how can he help it? His husband, his _life_ is lying unconscious with every manner of _thing_ sticking out of him, he did _CPR_ on him earlier for Christ's sake, how is he _not_ supposed to cry?

 

Blaine clutches Kurt's hand as he tries to wrestle back some semblance of control, willing him to squeeze back. He doesn't.

 

Then, a knock on the sliding door.

 

"You alright in here?" he hears Paul ask. He can't answer, not without losing it completely. Paul comes in the rest of the way, pulls back the curtain a bit.

 

Blaine has no idea how he looks right now, but he's pretty sure it's on the _bad_ scale, particularly considering the expression on Paul's face.

 

"Is there anyone I can call for you? This isn’t always the best place to be alone."

 

Blaine sighs. There's no one, not right now. Sam's out of the country on a job, Rachel has the kids, James is probably at the theater by now, Artie's shooting in LA, both sets of their parents are in Ohio, Cooper's in California. He shakes his head.

 

"Everybody's either gone or busy," he says, scrubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand. "But – I need to call and give some people updates. Everybody still thinks he had a heart attack." He moves to take his phone out, and Paul nods.

 

"Let me hang his meds really fast, and I'll be out of your hair." He pauses. "I'm sorry. I never even asked your name."

 

"It's Blaine. And he's Kurt, not Mr. Hummel – he hates that."

 

"Blaine and Kurt it is, then," Paul says, turning to put another IV bag on Kurt's IV pole, and Blaine's heart clenches. Blaine and Kurt it's always been, it's supposed to always _be_. "Okay, we're good to go," he tells Blaine. "There's a call light right here on his bed. Just press it if you need anything, and I'll come back." He's out the door, leaving Blaine once again alone with his husband.

 

* * *

 

"Oh my god, Blaine, how is he?"

 

Rachel answers before the phone gets done ringing the first time.

 

Blaine sighs. It's going to be exhausting, he knows, relaying the same story so many times. "He didn't have a heart attack."

 

"Really? What is it, then?"

 

"Something – some kind of block? In his heart? I don't know, I don't quite understand – they said his heart never stopped, but he has myo-something-or-other that they said too fast, but it means the heart muscle is inflamed. He has a concussion. He's unconscious. It's – it sounds kind of bad, Rach."

 

He swallows, and hears Rachel take a calming breath before she speaks. "Okay. But he's going to be alright?"

 

"Nobody will tell me that. All they'll say is 'he's stable for now.' What does that even mean, anyway? For _now_? And I mean, how stable can he be if he's been unconscious since like two-thirty this afternoon, his heart's inflamed, and he has an IV in his _neck_?" He pauses, takes a breath. "I'm sorry – I'm sitting right next to him, I need to be calmer. What time is it now, anyway?"

 

"Almost six," she answers quietly.

 

Three and a half hours since his world was turned upside down. He glances over at Kurt, runs a hand through his hair. "How are the kids?"

 

"Hanging in there. I've got them all in the living room watching vintage Disney right now."

 

"Which one?"

 

"We're having a marathon. I think they're on Beauty and the Beast. And, I hope you don't mind, but I kind of gave them ice cream for dinner? Grayson asked, and you know how pitiful he can look when he wants to …"

 

"I would let them loose in Willy Wonka's chocolate factory if they wanted it at this point," Blaine says tiredly.

 

"Speaking of dinner – have _you_ eaten, Blaine?"

 

"Would _you_ be able to?"

 

"Touché," she says, then pauses. "Listen – James stayed home from the show tonight, to help. If you need somebody with you, he can come."

 

"I –" He can't fathom facing _people_ right now; people are normally his saving grace, but it's exhausting to think about trying to be strong for anyone but Kurt. It's exhausting just being strong for _Kurt_ , actually.

 

"Blaine, please don’t refuse the company just because you're kind of a mess right now."

 

Blaine laughs for the first time since the whole ordeal began. "A mess. Am I, now? Thanks, Rach."

 

"Blaine, please, you know I love you, but _yes._ There's no way you can't be a mess. You and your children watched Kurt collapse right in front of your eyes–"

 

"Thank you," he says tightly, "I definitely needed a reminder. Because I haven't been haunted all afternoon by that mental image."

 

She sighs. "I'm sorry. God, Blaine, I _am_ , seriously, but I just feel so helpless here – I'm stressed and worried too. I've been pacing around all afternoon. James threatened to shoot me with a tranquilizer dart earlier if I didn't sit still."

 

It dawns on him that he's not the only person who has something to lose in this situation. "I know. I'm sorry too. He's your best friend, I _know_ , I just –"

 

"You're a mess," she repeats, gently this time. "And I'm going crazy over here. I want to help. _We_ want to help. If you need company, James will be there as soon as he can get there. If you'd rather be alone, at least let us make some phone calls for you. Have you called Kurt's dad?"

 

Phone calls. He wants to cry just thinking about it.

 

"Right after you left, yeah."

 

"Good. Have you called _your_ parents?"

 

"Burt's the only person I've talked to, other than you," he says. "And I haven't even updated him yet. I've just – I was falling apart in the waiting room, and once they let me go back –"

 

"You don't have to explain anything, sweetie," she tells him. "Let me make a list. Call your parents, call Burt, but I'll take care of everybody else. Do you want me to send James?"

 

Blaine closes his eyes. "No," he finally says, "I think I'm okay. I'm staying with him tonight."

 

"Can you do that if he's in ICU?"

 

"Apparently this hospital has loose visiting rules?" he answers. "Which is a good thing for them, because I'd love to see them try to pry me out of there."

 

He can hear her smile over the phone. "Mmm, so would I. I can see the headlines now – 'Man Mistaken for Hobbit is Arrested after Assaulting Nurse with IV Pole.'"

 

"Very funny."

 

"I know I am."

 

"Okay," he says with a sigh, "go do all my dirty work for me. I'll call if anything changes. Oh, and Rach?"

 

"Hmm?"

 

"I – I'll call to tell the kids goodnight, but – they don't need to come yet. I – I think they need to wait until he wakes up. Or –" He breaks off, swallows. "Or if we find out that he _won't_ –"

 

"Stop it right there," Rachel hisses fiercely into the phone. "Blaine Anderson, you listen to me, you stop talking like that right _now_. If _anybody_ needs to believe in him, it's you –" He hears her break off herself, and when she comes back, there are tears in her voice. "You stay right beside him and you give him a pep talk every hour. Tell him I'm going back on Broadway. Tell him I'm going to get better reviews than him. Tell him I'm giving Mads diva lessons and you're too much of a pushover to stop me. I don't care _what_ you tell him, but _you don't give up on him, Blaine_."

 

They're both crying now, and god, Blaine's never wished for a hug from Rachel so hard in his life. "Okay," he says, snatching a tissue from the box on the table beside his chair in the waiting room. "Okay, I'm sorry, I just –"

 

"You just _nothing_ ," she says, sniffling. "He's waking up. And that's the end of that."

 

That's the end of that. He can only hope.

 

* * *

 

It's a long evening – two emotional phone calls with his mom and with Burt, and Paul's concerted but unsuccessful attempts to get Blaine to eat dinner, and he's ready to throw in the towel on life in general.

 

"I can't," he apologizes, setting the chicken sandwich Paul had brought him back on the plate three bites in. "I'm sorry, I'm trying, I just _can't_ –"

 

"And you're not leaving him," Paul smiles, "I've got that part down."

 

Blaine nods. It's true.

 

"Well, why don't you make yourself useful while you're here, then," Paul says, warmth in his voice, and Blaine tries to cognitively process the idea of _joking_. It feels foreign, with Kurt still unconscious next to him. "Would you like to help with his bath?"

 

A few beats, and Paul's still standing there, waiting for an answer. "Wait, you're serious? I – can I?"

 

"Sure, as long as you don't pull anything important out of him," Paul smiles. "I think it'll do you good, and it'll help us out, too, save another nurse from having to come in and help me."

 

"Okay," Blaine says tentatively. "Just – tell me what to do, I guess."

 

Paul nods. "I'll get his water ready, then we'll get started, okay?"

 

Giving an ICU patient a bath, it turns out, is terrifying. It's nothing like the showers they take together, nothing like the luxurious clawfoot tub they shared on vacation to the French Riviera that one year.

 

What it _is,_ is avoiding wires, it's Paul holding Kurt on his side, total dead weight, long enough that Blaine can scrub his back, the only place on him, it seems, that nothing is attached. It's Paul handing Blaine a soapy washcloth, telling him that he can feel free to clean Kurt's "more _sensitive_ areas, if you catch my drift." It's Blaine nearly fainting at the sight of the catheter tube protruding from Kurt's flaccid cock, then flushing fucking _crimson_ as he carefully, gently, _painstakingly_ washes it. It's padding the entire top half of Kurt's bed with towels and something Paul calls 'chucks," washing his hair while Paul holds his head.

 

It's turning Kurt _again_ , this time Blaine holding all his weight as Paul changes the sheets on his bed, then his hospital gown. Paul's kind enough to keep Kurt at least partially covered the entire time.

 

When they're finally done, Blaine feels like he's been hit by a rogue taxi.

 

"I don't know how you do this every day, man," he says, falling into the chair as Paul changes out another of Kurt's IV bags. "For people you don't even _know_."

 

Paul shrugs. "You get used to it. Just part of taking care of people. Although, I have to say, I am grateful when people at least come _in_ with good hygiene."

 

Blaine smiles. "Yeah, you won't have to worry about that with him. God, he's going to be mortified when he wakes up – no hair products. I’ll have to get Rach to bring me a bag …"

 

Paul smiles back. "How long have you guys been married?"

 

Blaine takes Kurt's hand in his own, feels Kurt's cool, clean skin under his fingertips. "Forever, it feels like. Nineteen years," he says. "We got married young. We were still in college."

 

" _Wow_."

 

"Mmm, he's my whole world," Blaine muses, rubbing his thumb over Kurt's knuckles. "Always has been. We were high school sweethearts. We broke up for a while after a completely _idiot_ stunt pulled, of course, by me, got engaged like two days after we got back together." He chuckles. "We were so young and dumb."

 

"Well obviously it worked for you. Nineteen years," Paul says, shaking his head. "I've never been in a relationship longer than nineteen _months_."

 

"Yeah, well, we were weird. We never did things the way you're 'supposed' to," Blaine says, gazing at his husband. The laugh lines and crow's feet on his face are more prominent than they used to be, but god, he's still so gorgeous. He doesn't look a day over thirty, and his fortieth birthday was the month prior (and what an event _that_ had been.) Blaine brushes the soft, still-damp hair out of his eyes. It's long, covers his eyebrows now that he doesn't have product in it, now that it's not adding an extra three inches to his height.

 

"We have seven-year-old twins," he says after a long pause, and Paul looks up from his charting. "A girl and a boy. Madison and Grayson – Mads and Gray, we call them."

 

Paul just looks at him, listening.

 

"Our friend, Rachel, was our surrogate. We tried three rounds of IUI and went through one miscarriage before going for IVF with a donor egg. It worked the first time around. A year and a half of trying." He squeezes Kurt's hand again, so still in his own, and laughs drily. "And we thought _that_ was hard."

 

"Where are they? Your kids."

 

"With Rachel and her family," Blaine sighs. "The twins were there today, in the library. Mads was dragging him toward me when he –" He looks down. "I still can't believe they had to see that."  


"You can bring them here, you know," Paul says casually, typing something else on Kurt's chart. "We don't allow kids younger than four, but at seven – they can come."

 

Blaine scratches his head. "I'd like to wait until he wakes up, I think. I'm not sure – I'm afraid they won't understand. And – I mean, _I'm_ scared. I can't imagine how terrified they must be."

 

"Sometimes not knowing, not seeing is worse. Imagination can come up with some pretty horrible things," Paul counters. "But, obviously it's your call. You know your kids; I don't."

 

"I'll think about it," Blaine says, then looks at the clock. "Speaking of them, I've got to call them and say goodnight – it's bedtime."

 

"Take all the time you need. I've got to check in on my other patient, but we have a telemetry tech watching Kurt's monitor at all times. No worries, okay?"

 

Blaine nods, frowning. Easy for _him_ to say.

 

* * *

 

Once Paul's gone, he leans against the back of the couch, looks up at the ceiling. It's been surreal, this whole day – they were supposed to be tucking the kids into bed after washing ice cream off their sweet faces. Instead, Blaine's just washed betadine off Kurt's chest. Not exactly what he'd planned.

 

He takes his phone out, stares at his home screen for a while, a picture of their whole family, a selfie taken with Kurt's long arms. There's so much he's taken for granted; every day with Kurt is precious. He should've told him that he loved him before darting off to the 'grown-up books,' as Gray calls them, should've kissed him longer that morning.

 

It dawns on him what Kurt had suggested for tomorrow – a lazy Sunday, reminiscent of their pre-kid days, their morning spent naked in tangled sheets, reveling in each other's skin. Tears spring to his eyes again and he wonders if he'll ever get a lazy Sunday with Kurt again.

 

He gathers himself, makes the call.

 

"Any news?" Rachel answers, once again picking up before the first ring is done. He knows she must have the phone glued to her side, must be on pins and needles – Kurt's her family almost as much as he is Blaine's, after all.

 

"Nothing new," he says. "Just finished bathing him. We've got to get his hair stuff in here before he wakes up and sees himself."

 

She manages a laugh. "God, he'd kill us both, wouldn't he?"

 

"Can I talk to the kids? Are they anywhere near going to bed?"

 

"Well, they're in their jammies," she sighs, "but I'm not sure how much sleeping I'll get out of them. They have lots of questions, and I don't know if I can answer some of them."

 

Blaine feels the entire world on his shoulders – how is he supposed to be everything for Kurt _and_ for his children? "Let me talk to them."

 

Rachel hands the phone to Grayson first. "Hey, bud," Blaine says, trying to sound upbeat.

 

"Hi, Daddy."

 

"You having fun with Auntie Rach and Cora?"

 

"We ate ice cream for dinner. But I miss you. I miss _Papa_ ," he says, and Blaine can tell he's been crying. "Are you coming home tonight?"

 

"I need to stay here with Papa, make sure he's okay," Blaine says. "We don't want him to be all by himself, do we? He'll be lonely."

 

"I don't want him to be lonely," Grayson says. "But – can you ask Auntie Rachel if I can have my bear? I don't know if I can sleep without him _and_ without you or Papa."

 

Blaine takes a silent, calming breath. "Sure thing – I bet Uncle James will go get him for you."

 

"Daddy, is he gonna get better? I was so scared earlier today – that's why I hid under the table. I tried to be brave, but it looked like you were hurting him when you were pushing on his chest. Why wasn't he waking up?"

 

_Don't cry, don’t cry, don't cry_ , Blaine chants to himself. "Papa's doing okay right now," he says, fighting like mad to keep his voice steady. "He's just taking a really long nap. We have to be patient and wait for him to wake up. And, sweetheart, earlier at the library, I wasn't hurting him – I was doing something called CPR. It's something that grownups sometimes have to do to make people better. It –" he paused, wondering how much in-detail he should go with a seven-year-old. "You know how your heart pumps blood to your body? You learned that in science this last fall, right?"

 

"Yeah."

 

"Well, sometimes people's hearts don't work right for some reason, so we have to help them pump. I was just trying to pump Papa's heart _for_ him, but to do that, I had to push on his chest really hard."

 

"Oh," Grayson says. "I'm sorry I thought you were hurting him, Daddy. I don't think you would ever hurt Papa on purpose."

 

Blaine's shaky resolve is slowly beginning to crack. "No," he says, swallowing. "No, I wouldn't – and I'm glad you know that."

 

"What you did to Papa was actually nice, then. You were being kind to him, like you always tell me and Mads to do."

 

God, his _kids_ – it's all he can do to keep from curling into a ball on the floor and sobbing like a baby. "Yes," he says. "Just like that." It's a topic that comes up a lot at their house, when Madison and Grayson get in knock-down drag-outs that end in pulled hair, lots of screeching and tears. They're trying to nip it in the bud, though they know they're fighting a losing battle. Blaine's glad at least _some_ of what they've said has stuck, at least in Gray's mind.

 

"I would press on Madison's chest if I thought her heart was sick," he says, "even if she's bossy sometimes and steals all my favorite crayons."

 

Blaine's a goner at that. "Hang on, Gray," he chokes out, pulls the phone away and buries his head in his knees, allowing himself two silent, pained sobs before pulling it together again.

 

"Okay, bud," he says, his breathing finally under control, "Daddy's back. Now, if Uncle James goes to get your bear, do you think you can go to sleep for Auntie Rach?"

 

"What if I have nightmares, Daddy?"

 

"You can get Rachel," he tells his little boy. "She'll come protect you, okay?"

 

"Okay. Madison wants to talk to you now."

 

"Alright, sweetie, you can put her on. I love you, okay?"

 

"I love you too." He barely has time to breathe before Madison comes on the line, interrogating him, and the first thing out of her mouth shocks him badly.

 

"Is Papa _dead_?"

 

"Mads – _no_ , sweetheart, Papa isn't dead. Where on earth did you get that idea?"

 

"Auntie Rachel said that Papa was _sleeping_. That's what grown-ups tell kids when they don't want to say that somebody _died_. I'm not _stupid_ , Daddy."

 

"Madison Claire, you watch your tone, young lady," Blaine says sharply. "Let me ask you something. Do we lie to each other in this family?"

 

"No," she says, sounding immediately small.

 

"No. We tell the truth, even when the truth is hard. So if Papa had died," Blaine's voice breaks, "I would tell you. Both you and Gray. But he didn't. Okay?"

 

Madison bursts into tears. "I couldn't help him, Daddy. He told me to find you, and I was trying, but I couldn't get to you in time, and he fell and –" she breaks off, hysterical.

 

"Oh, Madison," he says softly, wanting nothing more that to wrap her up in his arms, hold her until her tears subsided, "you did _everything_ right, sweetheart. You yelled for me when Papa couldn't, right? And you brought him to where I could get to him. You did exactly what he asked. I couldn't have asked you to be more brave and grown-up than you were today. I hate that you had to be brave like that, baby."

 

"It was just –" She breaks off, hiccupping. "It was so _scary_ , Daddy. He wasn't moving, and you –"

 

"I know, sweetheart, I know. And you were right there, you saw all of it –" Blaine breaks off himself, takes what seems like the thousandth deep breath he's taken that day. "You helped Papa _so_ much, honey."

 

"So," she sniffles, "so he really is just sleeping? He's really not dead?"

 

"He's really just sleeping, baby."

 

Blaine's never heard a more relieved sigh in his life. "I thought he was _dead_ , Daddy, I was so scared – and we watched Lion King tonight, except Auntie Rachel turned it off right before Scar killed Mufasa, and I thought it was because –" she breaks off again.

 

Kurt's heart might not be working quite right, but Blaine's feels like it's been run through a meat grinder today. "No, sweetie. Listen, I just gave him a bath, okay? He was breathing all by himself. You know how he hit his head? It's like in those movies when people knock themselves out and then take a really long nap. We just have to be patient and wait for him to wake up."

 

"You have to promise you'll take care of him, Daddy. He has to come home." She's still crying, and Blaine's heart is still breaking.

 

"I _promise_ ," he says to her, means it with all he has in him. "You guys be good, and be brave while I'm gone – I'm gonna get Uncle James to go get Gray's bear for him, do you want Mr. Mistoffelees to sleep with?"

 

"Yes, please," she says, sniffling. "Can me and Gray sleep in the same bed tonight, Daddy?"

 

"Sure, sweetheart. You want to talk about anything else before I talk to Rachel again?"

 

She pauses. "Can we come visit Papa at the hospital?"

 

He sighs. "I don't know, sweetie – Papa's got a lot of wires attached to him right now. I'm afraid it might be scary for you guys."

 

"More scary than at the library?"

 

"I'm not sure. It's a different kind of scary, I think. Maybe we'll see how things are in the morning, what do you think?"

 

"Okay. I love you, Daddy."

 

"I love you, too, sweetheart. Try and have sweet dreams, okay?"

 

"Okay. Tell Papa that Gray and I love him, too."

 

When Rachel gets back on the phone, she sighs. "Oh, _Blaine._ You still with me after all that?"

 

"Barely," he says. "You still have the spare key to our place, right?"

 

"Mm-hmm."

 

"Can you or James run over and grab the kids' stuffed animals and the afghan that used to belong to Kurt's mom? I know it's just one more thing to ask when you're already keeping them, but –"

 

"It's done," Rachel says, and Blaine sighs.

 

"Thank you. I need to get back to him, okay?"

 

"Go. I'll bring him a bag whenever you want me to."

 

"Rachel–"

 

"Hush, now, and go see your husband. I know. You want to thank me, you appreciate everything, but Blaine – he's my best friend. _Anything_ I can do …"

 

"Just – keep the kids. I –"

 

"You're _exhausted_ , as well you should be," Rachel says. "Now _go_. We've got everything covered on this end, okay? Oh, and Cora – poor thing, she's distraught. She sends her love, she hopes Kurt gets better very soon, and I'm pretty sure there was a silent 'so I can ride off into the sunset with him' tacked onto the end of that, but that's just between us."

 

Blaine smiles again. He's thankful for the few he's been able to manage – it seems there's so little to be happy about on this day.

 

"Tell her I'll give him a kiss for her," he says, and Rachel cackles.

 

"Oh my god, she would lock herself in her room and never come out. Oh, you are _evil_ , Blaine Anderson."

 

"Well, she _has been_ trying to steal my husband for the better part of two years now," he says, grinning. "Turn-about's fair play, right?"

 

The sound of Rachel's laughter is somehow a balm to his exhausted, wrung-out heart. "I guess you're right," she says. "Now, _go_. And _do_ give Kurt a kiss for _me_. On the cheek, of course."

 

"Of course. Hey, Rach?"

 

"Hmm?"

 

"Love you."

 

He can hear her smile through the phone. "I love you, too, Blaine Warbler. Always will."

 

* * *

 

Sunday

Blaine learns that night that sleeping in an ICU room is actually not possible. Especially when said ICU patient is beginning to wake from a bad concussion. By morning, he's ready to throw Kurt's monitor out the window, throw his IV pumps in the trash, and throttle the nurse who opens the door and wakes him up every hour, on the hour. The one thing he's not allowing himself to be mad at are Kurt's noises, more like moans at first, then random words that don't make sense. They're music to Blaine's ear. The night nurse tells him that it's positive that he's waking up so early in the game, that they'll hopefully see what kind of damage they're working with in a few days' time. (Blaine's decidedly _not_ thinking about damage.) It's just that every time Kurt makes a noise, Blaine has _almost_ gone back to sleep.

 

When the dayshift nurse gets there at 7 and brings him a cup of coffee with her when she comes to do Kurt's morning assessment, he's never been more grateful in his life.

 

* * *

 

An hour later, the doctors are rounding. A big group of them comes in like a herd of cattle, crowding Kurt's room. Blaine doesn't like the way they look at him, like he's a room number, not a person, and shoots them a warning look from his chair. Then he takes a big gulp of his second cup of coffee.

 

One of the doctors begins to talk. "Forty-year-old male presenting with Mobitz II second-degree AV block related to myocarditis, transvenous pacer inserted in the ED yesterday, severe bradycardia on admission, heart rate in the teens to twenty. A-fib also noted. Patient lost consciousness in the field, three cracked ribs from resuscitation efforts, Glasgow Coma Scale was a five on admission and this morning …"

 

Monique, Kurt's nurse for the day, looks up from her charting. "This morning, a nine."

 

"What does that _mean_?" Blaine asks, taking a swig of coffee, his mind in ten places. The broken ribs he hadn't known about; _he'd_ done that, had hurt his husband, but then … _coma_. Where's he even supposed to focus? "You guys have been doing this scale all night long – is a nine good? I mean, obviously it's better than a five since he's better than yesterday, but … I mean, are you still gonna do an MRI?"

 

"Yes, what _does_ that mean?" a thin, older doctor in a longer coat asks, stepping up to the front from behind the crowd of other doctors. He's Hispanic, has a thick accent. "It's a good question."

 

"Well, he had a normal CT scan in the ED yesterday, and he has a suspected concussion," one of the other doctors says, once again not completely answering Blaine's question, and he's beginning to wonder if doctors ever actually _listen_ to anyone. "Normally we would follow up with an MRI since he's not completely conscious yet."

 

"You say normally," the older doctor says. "Why?"

 

"His pacing wire," a different doctor says. Blaine's starting to get very confused. "It puts him at high risk."

 

"Very good. So what should be our course of action?" the older doctor asks.

 

"Wait, wait," Blaine interrupts. "They – I'm confused. Why aren't we doing an MRI if that's what you _normally_ do?"

 

The older doctor turns to him. "I am very sorry, I have not introduced myself. I am Dr. Gomez and I am one of the intensivists here. These are my students," he says, gesturing to the group behind him, then reaches out to shake Blaine's hand. "I will be following Mr. Hummel's case while he is here."

 

"Nice to meet you," Blaine says out of habit, even though it's not, really. "Now – what's the deal with the MRI?"

 

"Mr. Hummel has a pacing wire that keeps his heart beating at a normal rate," Dr. Gomez explains. "Because of that wire, there are risks to having an MRI performed. What we must do is determine if those risks outweigh the benefits, or vice versa." He turns to his students. "Anyone?"

 

"Well, he's improving," one of the doctors says. "We could follow with CT scanning for now, make sure there's no major injury showing itself, and see how things progress. If he starts regressing again, we'll do an MRI."

 

Dr. Gomez smiles. "Excellent."

 

"Wait, _regressing_? Is that a possibility?" Blaine asks, panicked.

 

"It could be," Dr. Gomez says. "We hope not, we do not expect it, but it is always a possibility. We will probably do a CT scan later today to see if anything has changed."

 

Kurt moans softly from the bed, then, and Blaine nearly bowls half the doctors over trying to get to him. "Kurt," he says. "Kurt, open your eyes, I'm right here. _Kurt_."

 

To Blaine's amazement, Kurt's eyelids slide open, a slow drag, and there's a hazy look to his eyes, confused, disoriented, like he doesn't recognize Blaine at all. A few seconds later, and they're closed again.

 

"Make that a ten on the Coma Scale," Monique says, a smile in her voice.

 

He looks at the doctors, his eyes wide. "Is this _normal_?"

 

"It can take a long time for a patient to regain full consciousness," one of the female doctors in the group tells him. "Give him time, and try not to worry – there's no way we can know his outcome at this point, okay?"

 

Try not to worry. _Right_.

 

* * *

 

The rules of time don't seem to apply in the hospital. He's sat in the uncomfortable chair so long, waiting for Kurt to wake up, watching his every move, that he's sure it must be midafternoon. When he looks at his phone, it's ten-thirty in the morning.

 

He guesses it's a good thing – he can see an improvement in Kurt even since the doctors rounded; there's movement and more noises. But it's agonizing, waiting like this, starting out of his chair at every single sigh Kurt makes.

 

It sounds like he's in pain.

 

Blaine desperately hopes that's not the case.

 

He's almost dozed off in his chair when he hears Kurt gasp in the bed.

 

"Help," Kurt rasps, "help me, somebody …"

 

The nurses have warned him that Kurt might be confused, disoriented as he begins to wake up; everyone has different experiences when regaining consciousness, apparently. Some are violent, some are paranoid, some cry, some don’t remember a thing, some remember everything – there's no telling what it'll be like.

 

Blaine rushes to his side. "Kurt?"

 

"Where – Bl-" Kurt says, coughing hard, then gasping in pain. "Blaine."

 

"Kurt, Kurt, _shhh_ , you're fine, you're in the hospital," Blaine chants, brushing Kurt's hair back from his face.

 

"… What?" His face is a mask of confusion, terror-stricken. "But – they – the kids –"

 

"The kids are with Rachel, baby," Blaine soothes. He's relieved for a moment – Kurt knows who he is, he knows the kids, knows to be concerned for them, he's speaking clearly. And then Kurt opens his mouth again, and the worry creeps back in.

 

"I – they took me –"

 

"Honey, nobody took you. You collapsed in the library yesterday," Blaine says gently, hoping desperately that Kurt's only confused for the moment.

 

"No, they _did_ ," Kurt insists, "they _took_ me, held me down, Blaine, they're _dangerous_. They must think I know something, or have something they want …" and Blaine nearly has to turn his face away to keep from laughing in the midst of all of it. Of all things, Kurt has woken up apparently thinking they're in the middle of some sort of espionage ring, some spy organization. Only his husband…

 

His head whips around as the door opens and Monique comes in, having heard them talking. Kurt immediately tenses up, clutching the bedsheets, his feet kicking. "Blaine, go, she's one of them, you have to get out of here –"

 

"Monique, please, can you give me a minute?" Blaine asks, holding up his hand. "He's terrified."

 

"Does he know who you are?" she asks. Blaine nods. "Okay, I'll give you a minute, but you know I can't stay away forever – I've got to examine him."

 

He'll take what he can get, turns back to Kurt as she backs out of the room. "Why are you _talking_ to her?" Kurt hisses, eyes wide.

 

"Kurt, baby, that's Monique. She's your nurse. She's been taking care of you," Blaine tells him, barely able to hide his smile. He wonders what _his_ brain would come up with, probably something even more ridiculous and out-there. (It's funny as long as it's not permanent, Blaine thinks. _Please_ don't let it be permanent.)

 

"But they've tied me down, see?" Kurt whispers, and then jerks his hand up so hard he nearly smacks himself in the face. He looks so surprised that Blaine's a little afraid he'll fall right out of the bed, and is glad that the siderails are up. "But I – I couldn't move –"

 

"Sweetheart, you've been unconscious," Blaine says, still stroking Kurt's face. "That's why you couldn't move."

 

"No, but I could hear them, I was with the kids picking out books and then the next thing I remember is being held down and _stabbed_ with things …"

 

Blaine can tell that Kurt's coming into himself a little more, finding his words, but that's the one thing Blaine had hoped Kurt _wouldn't_ remember. "They were just trying to help you, sweetheart. Can I – please, I've been waiting to hug you since yesterday, can I –"

 

Kurt, with a lot less flailing this time, reaches up, grunting a little as Blaine's arms come around the backs of his shoulders, being careful to avoid the IV line in his neck. He sighs, relieved, into Kurt's hospital gown.

[](http://s1224.photobucket.com/user/aprilskinner/media/april2-1_zpsbd02b7be.jpg.html)

 

"How are you feeling?" he asks after the long, gentle hug. He's reluctant to let Kurt go.

 

"I just …" Kurt tries to sit up a little, groans, tries to look down at himself. He pats his chest with his hand, feels all the wires. "I'm so confused. And I don't feel very good. My chest hurts so bad …"

 

_I did that_ , Blaine thinks, his heart throbbing. "Monique is probably gonna want to look you over. But after that, do you want me to tell you everything that's going on, or do you want to take a little nap?" Blaine asks.

 

Kurt frowns. "Sleep sounds nice, but –"

 

"I'll be right here," Blaine says. "I won't leave your side, I swear. Your dad and Carole should hopefully be flying in today."

 

"And – you promise they won't hurt me? My brain's all fuzzy," Kurt says, tears filling his eyes. "Nothing's making sense …"

 

"I know, baby," Blaine says, his mind drifting back to his first year at NYADA, the horrible night when Kurt was hospitalized after trying to help a man being assaulted. " _Nothin's gonna harm you, not while I'm around_ ," he sings softly, holding Kurt's hand in his. " _Nothin's gonna harm you, no sir, not while I'm around_ …"

 

Kurt takes his hand and holds it to his cheek. "Promise?"

 

" _Promise_ ," Blaine swears. "I'm gonna get the nurse – maybe there's something she can give you to help you relax, help you sleep. Would that be okay?"

 

Kurt looks uncertain, but nods. "As long as you stay with me."

 

"I'm not budging. Haven't left your side once," Blaine assures him, and presses the call light on Kurt's bed.

 

* * *

 

After that, Blaine's at a loss. Kurt's paranoia makes everything more difficult – Blaine's worried sick that Kurt will pull the IV line out of his neck, or the pacers out of his chest in a fit of panic. He's been disoriented and terrified each time he's woken up after dozing off in the bed.

 

He's distrustful of hospital staff, eyes growing wide with terror each time a new IV bag is hung, certain that they're poisoning him, or giving him some sort of futuristic serum that will force information out of him, about _what_ he has no idea. Blaine's not sure whether to laugh or cry – the whole thing would be hilarious were it not so _devastating_ to watch.

 

It's been an exhausting day, and by noon, Blaine's ready to quit. He's reoriented Kurt to his surroundings over a dozen times, and while there's been very slow progress, it's an arduous task, watching his husband like this.

 

And on top of all that, he has no idea what to do about visitors. Burt and Carole are slated for an afternoon arrival, Rachel's supposed to be bringing Kurt's bag by, and what about their _children_? He can't let his kids see their father like this, he's already decided – unconscious would have been a better option that then state Kurt wakes up in now. Burt and Carole he's fine with, and he and Rachel decided together that Kurt can do without hair products for one more day, as his main concern currently is that his nurses are trying to kill him.

 

So all he can do is wait. For Burt to arrive and save the day, as he does, or for Kurt to wake up so Blaine can tell him where he is again, only to repeat the same cycle over and over again.

 

He wouldn't wish this kind of hell on his worst enemy.

 

* * *

 

Waking comes slowly, every time.

 

It starts when his eyes are still closed against the light, just an awareness of _being_ , then an awareness of _hurting_. He's so confused, feels a little like he's either floating or falling, but he can't be dead because his chest is fucking _killing_ him.

 

He tries to figure it out before he lets them know he's awake, where he is, who's taken him, _why_. He can't remember, he knows he's in some sort of sterile-looking place, with loud beeps everywhere. He's not sure why they took him, where the kids are, _god where are his kids, where is Blaine_? All he remembers is people talking above him, and pain. Stabbing pain in his neck, in his chest, his ribs throb like he's been hit by a car. He's not sure why he feels like they've _taken_ him, held him hostage like this – maybe he _was_ hit by a car. But why did they tie him down if he was only hurt? And why are they keeping him here?

 

There are no answers in the dark.

 

He listens, hears what sounds like Blaine, feels relief, then panic, because what if they've taken him, too?

 

Then the eyelids, like pulling up tissue-thin pieces of lead. It's bright sometimes, sometimes not. Sometimes there are other people, sometimes it's just Blaine, always sitting by his bed. Why can't he ever remember that Blaine is always there until he sees him?

 

"Kurt?" Blaine says, moving faster than time seems to be moving, like Kurt's trapped in some viscous universe. "Kurt, do you know where you are?"

 

He blinks. His mouth is dry, but his eyes aren't, the lead lids sliding easier with every pass. He tries to look around. It looks familiar, but he can't quite place it, like everything's on the edge of his brain, just trying to come out.

 

"Kurt, baby, talk to me."

 

He blinks again; everything just feels so _slow_. "Am I safe?" he rasps. "Are we safe?"

 

Blaine's face doesn't fall but his eyes do, and Kurt can tell he's faking the smile on his face. "Of course we are," he says, bends to brush his lips over Kurt's forehead. "Tell me what you remember."

 

"I –" He swallows, why does his mouth feel so _dry_?

 

"Here, do you want an ice chip or two?" Blaine offers, holding up a styrofoam cup and a spoon. "Is your mouth dry?"

 

Blaine must know what's happening. He nods, gratefully accepts the ice that Blaine so carefully spoons in his mouth. It's like heaven, the flood of cold melting liquid in his mouth, even if it's nowhere near enough.

 

"Now," Blaine says, perching on the bed beside him. "Tell me where you think you might be."

 

He has to think so hard – the thick crawl of time is thinning out a bit, he doesn't quite feel like he's trying to move through pudding, but he's still so groggy, his brain just won't work right. "I feel like someone took me hostage," he says, "but I don't think that's right. You’ve – you've already told me before, haven't you?"

 

Blaine nods. "Where does it _look_ like you are?" he asks, and _oh_ , the man's patience. And then Kurt remembers he teaches middle school and understands.

 

He turns his head left, right, and _ow_ , that hurts, looking right, there seems to be some sort of plastic tree branch sticking out of his neck – what the hell happened to him?

 

"A – hospital?" he guesses, and Blaine's face lights up as if it's Christmas.

 

"Good!"

 

But a hospital means he's sick, and a hospital where he can't remember what the hell happened means he's _really_ sick. "Blaine – what's wrong with me?"

 

"Well, you have a thing going on with your heart that I can explain more about later – not a heart attack – but basically you passed out at the library yesterday and hit your head and gave yourself a _nasty_ concussion," he says. "You were out for a while, and the doctors say it might take some time to completely get back to normal."

 

"How many times have you had to tell me this today?" Kurt asks.

 

Blaine hesitates. "Ummm …"

 

" _Blaine_."

 

"Several," he decides, and Kurt sighs.

 

"I'm sorry," he says. "It just – when I wake up, I feel like I'm trying to think through concrete or something. Everything's slow, nothing makes sense –"

 

"I know, baby," Blaine says gently, bending to kiss his forehead. "But you remembered more this time. When you first woke up, you were sure that all the nurses were trying to kill you. So that made things a little difficult for a while."

 

"Have the kids come to visit?"

 

Blaine shakes his head. "Not yet," he says. "I'm not – you've been confused every time you've woken up all day. I – I don't want to scare them. But your dad's on his way from the airport, so you can see him soon. Maybe the kids can come tomorrow?"

 

Kurt nods. "Okay." He's suddenly, overwhelmingly tired, which is stupid because he's been awake all of five minutes, but –

 

"Hey, if you need another nap, it's okay," Blaine says, smiling, and Kurt knows he must look ridiculous, eyes as heavy as they are.

 

"Will you be here when I wake up?" he whispers, sleep overtaking him quickly.

 

"I haven't left once," Blaine promises, and then it's all floating and darkness again.

 

* * *

 

"Knock, knock."

 

Blaine looks up to see Burt's face, the most welcome sight he's seen in what feels like _years_. He hurtles into Burt's waiting arms, so grateful that his father-in-law still has a pretty tight grip, because he kind of needs somebody to hold him together.

 

"Long day?"

 

"You have no idea," Blaine sighs, squeezing around Burt's shoulders one more time before letting go and straightening his shirt. "Where's Carole?"

 

"With Grayson and Madison," Burt says, and Blaine feels a pang of guilt – he hasn't even talked to them today. "They're acting a little clingy, so she took them back to your place to spoil them for a while. It'll just be me this afternoon, unless something happens."

 

Blaine nods, hoping that nothing that would draw Carole away from her grandchildren will darken Kurt's door.

 

"Let's see if he'll wake up," Blaine says, walking over to Kurt's bed. "Kurt, baby?" He leans over his husband's sleeping form, brushes a piece of hair off his forehead. "You want to wake up and see your dad?"

 

Kurt blinks his eyes, looking dazed – other than the first time when he woke up panicked, it's been slow, like he's fighting tooth and nail to crawl back to full consciousness.

 

"Hey sweetheart," Blaine smiles, squeezing his hand. "Do you know where you are?"

 

The fright in Kurt's eyes has lessened throughout the day, but the confusion hasn't. "I –"

 

Right. Ice chips. Kurt's mouth is so, so dry, but they won't let him drink anything yet, only a couple of ice chips at a time to satisfy his thirst. The nurses assure Blaine that he isn't dehydrated, that the IV fluids are taking care of everything else, but he just looks miserable when he tries to speak.

 

"Here, sorry sweetheart," Blaine says, gently spooning some ice into Kurt's mouth. "Is that better?"

 

Kurt nods, munching on the ice, then frowns. "I feel like I'm supposed to know," he says slowly, "but I can't remember?"

 

"Kurt?" Burt's voice comes out behind and above Blaine, and he jumps up so that Burt can take a seat. "Hey, bud, how you feelin'?"

 

Kurt frowns again. "My chest hurts," he says, squirming in the bed a little. It's the hundredth time Blaine's heard him say it, and it still makes him want to cry just as much as it did when he'd said it the first time. Kurt looks around. "I – I'm in a hospital, aren't I?"

 

Relief rushes through Blaine like a white-water rapid – it's the fastest Kurt's realized it yet. "You are," he answers.

 

"Am I going to be okay?"

 

It's the _first_ time Blaine's heard that question from him, and he's happy that Kurt's critical thinking is returning to him.

 

"You're gonna be fine, Kurt," Burt answers for him. "Just fine."

 

"This – I don't remember seeing you in here before …" Kurt says, trying to process.

 

"I just got here," Burt tells him. "You haven't missed anything." He turns up to Blaine. "You need to take a break for a second, get some coffee or something? I know you haven't been out of this room all day."

 

Coffee actually sounds delightful, and his mom's been bugging him for more than a text update for over an hour now, but _Kurt_ … "I don't know," he says, hesitant.

 

"Go," Kurt tells him from the bed, making a shooing motion with his hand. "Dad'll be here. You look tired."

 

He _is_ tired, but he must be even more so than he thought if Kurt can tell that from the bed with no glasses or contacts in. "…Okay," he says, then pulls out his phone. "If anything happens, _anything_ , Burt, call me, please."

 

Burt nods. "Will do."

 

As he's walking out the door, he sees Burt lean over and hug Kurt tightly, and realizes that it might not have been only for his benefit that Burt asked him to leave.

 

* * *

 

Once Blaine's out of Kurt's room, he's not quite sure where to go. Kurt's been the only thing tethering him to reality, and now that he's out of sight, now that his dad is taking care of him, Blaine wonders if he might not just float away somewhere. They might actually have to put him in the psych ward.

 

He must look as lost as he feels, standing in the hall of the cardiac unit in front of the nurses' station, because he suddenly feels hands on his shoulders, guiding him toward the door. "Sir? Can I walk you to the cafeteria?"

 

He looks over, stares a tall nurse with wild, curly hair in the face.

 

"It's just, you've been in that room with him since yesterday afternoon. You need to eat. You can't take care of him if you don't take care of yourself, too."

 

"I –" He pauses. He _is_ hungry, actually, all he's had to eat were those measly little bites of sandwich he took last night. "Sure. I guess."

 

He lets her walk him to the elevators, down three floors and down the hall, feeling entirely like a child, minding a good bit less than he would've expected.

 

"Okay," she tells him, leaving him outside the double doors. "I'll leave you to it, then. Don't rush – take your time to eat, take a break. You'll feel better."

 

"Thank you," he tells her, and opens the doors. The smell of food overwhelms him, turns his stomach a little, and instead of heading toward the line, he finds a table to sit at.

 

His dad answers the phone when he calls his parents – they're the only people he knows who still have a landline – and he squeezes his eyes shut, pleading with the universe to let the conversation be as easy as it can.

 

It goes well, though, as most of their conversations have over the past several years. Children, it seems, really _do_ change everything. The twins, when they came along, were like Blaine's father's kryptonite, turning a cold, stand-offish relationship into something warm and caring.

 

Things between them still aren't perfect now – he's no Burt Hummel, never will be – but he's a good grandfather to his children, genuinely seems to love Kurt even if he doesn't understand him, and above all, there's more effort than there ever has been.

 

Blaine's smiling over the concern in his parents' voices, wondering if the chicken fingers in the cafeteria might not make him puke – he really _is_ hungry – when his ears are drawn upward, to the overhead paging system.

 

"Attention-attention-attention, Code Blue, CCU. Attention-attention-attention, Code Blue, Cardiac Care Unit."

 

_Kurt_.

* * *

 

"It's not him," Burt says, nearly catching Blaine in a tackle as he sprints toward the unit. The wind's knocked out of him for a moment – while Burt may be 63 years old, he's just as strong and solid as ever, and it's not like Blaine's grown any – and he stops, dead-still in Burt's arms.

 

"It's not Kurt," Burt repeats, trying to make it sink into Blaine's skull, "but we can't go in. It was an old lady across the unit from him. They're working on her."

 

"Oh thank god," Blaine breathes. It then dawns on him then it's a terrible thing to say, to be so grateful for someone else's suffering, but it's true all the same – he's _so_ glad it's anyone but Kurt.

 

"Did you eat lunch?" Burt asks, pulling back a bit. "You're shaking like a leaf."

 

He hesitates. "No? I was about to, but …" He nods up at the ceiling.

 

"Blaine, when's the last time you had something to eat?"

 

"I – um –" He thinks back, tries to remember. He's had about a gallon of coffee since he's been here, but – "Um, last night?" Not that three tiny bites of a sandwich really count, but he's not telling Burt that.

 

Burt rolls his eyes. "Come on, I'll buy you lunch. Or breakfast, or whatever this is for you. Not like we can sit with him right now anyway."

 

Blaine acquiesces and learns that the chicken fingers in the cafeteria are actually pretty good, delicious even, as hungry as he is.

 

"So you might wanna watch out," Burt says, clearly amused at the rate Blaine's shoveling food in his mouth – after he's started, he can't seem to stop. "You seem to have some competition."

 

Blaine looks up, honey mustard sauce dripping from the corner of his mouth, feeling a little like a caveman. He does find the manners to swallow his food before he speaks. "Come again?"

 

"Kurt's nurse. I mean, not that I'm the best judge or anything, but –"

 

"Oh, you must be talking about Paul," Blaine says, smiling. "I made up this whole scenario in my head yesterday, when things were bad, that when Kurt woke up he'd fall in love with his heroic ICU nurse and ride off into the sunset and leave me."

 

"I don't know about _that_ ," Burt says, "but he was awfully worried about how his hair looked."

 

Blaine laughs out loud. "I _knew_ it. God, I should've gotten Rachel to bring his bag after all. Just – don't give him a mirror yet, okay?"

 

"Deal. I gotta say, it's pretty funny, watching him fall all over himself like a damn schoolgirl."

 

"Did he know where he was when he woke up this time?"

 

Burt nods. "Took him just a second, but he figured it out. First thing he wanted to know was where you were, actually, so maybe you don't have as much competition from that Paul guy as I thought."

 

"I should've been there," Blaine says frowning. "I don't like the thought of him waking up and not knowing where I am …"

 

"Blaine, you were gone fifteen minutes. I was there the whole time. I know how you react to stuff like this – have you been guilt-tripping yourself this whole time over everything? Because you're not going to survive this if you keep it up."

 

Blaine takes a breath. "Okay. Yeah, you're right – I feel better now that I've eaten, anyway. But – can we go back and wait up there? He really _is_ alone now, and I don't want him getting scared or confused …"

 

Burt's smile is rueful, and he says, shaking his head, "I couldn't have hand-picked a better guy for my son if I tried. Sure, we can go back up."

 

Halfway down the hall, he feels Burt's hand on his arm. "Blaine, I never –" Burt's voice is coming out thick, and Blaine hears him swallow. "I don't know how to say thank you for what you've done for him. If you hadn't been there, or if he'd been home by himself, or with the kids –"

 

He trails off, and it's Blaine's turn to comfort his father-in-law for once. "You know I would die before I let something happen to him," he says, pulling Burt into a tight hug. "You know he's everything to me, my entire world, I wouldn't ever –" He pauses. "It's nothing, what I did. How could I _not_ have done everything I possibly could?"

 

Burt nods, sniffing a little as he pulls out of the hug. "Yeah. I know. But still – just, thank you. He'll always be my little boy, you know?" His face twists, voice cracking. "If I'd lost him …"

 

"But you didn't," Blaine reminds him, keeping his own voice steady. " _We_ didn't." He manages a smile. "Kurt's a Hummel, through and through – it'll take more than this to bring him down."

 

"Mmm, the earth could open up and he'd still go down fighting," Burt agrees. "Doesn't mean I'm not still glad you've got his back, though."


	3. Chapter 3

Kurt wakes that evening and knows exactly where he is. It's a relief, Blaine's worried face looking down on him, to be able to answer all the questions he's asked. Kurt wonders if it's even more of a relief for Blaine, who looks simultaneously like he might cry and explode with happiness, and curls right up on the bed next to him, kissing his temple.

 

"You're gonna be just fine, Kurt," his dad says proudly, and reaches over to squeeze his hand before excusing himself for the night, heading back to Kurt and Blaine's place to help Carole with the kids.

 

"Speaking of them," Blaine says after he's left, "it's their bedtime – I can call from the room phone in here if you want to talk to them."

 

Kurt feels a thousand times better at the thought; he _misses_ them. "I would love to talk to them, honey."

 

Blaine dials Carole's number and immediately hands the phone off to Kurt, a huge smile on his face.

 

When she answers, Kurt grins. "Guess who's back from the brink?"

 

Carole squeals. "It is _so_ good to hear your voice, sweetie. How are you feeling?"

 

"Like I've been hit by a truck, honestly," Kurt says, "but I'm getting there. Earlier I was sure all the nurses were trying to kill me, and that I'd been taken hostage, so progress, I guess."

 

She laughs. "Oh, the mind does crazy things, doesn't it?"

 

"The craziest."

 

"So, as much as I'd love to chat with you, I've got two little monkeys on me over here that I think _might_ actually sleep tonight if they got to say hello."

 

"Feeling's mutual," Kurt says, smiling. "Put them on."

 

" _Papa_?"

 

"Hey Mads," Kurt says, clutching Blaine's hand. "How are you, sweetheart?"

 

She bursts into tears, so loud that Blaine can obviously hear her, and gives him a worried look.

 

" _Shhh_ , _shhhh_ ," Kurt tries to soothe her, but her cries are breaking him in the worst possible way – he's not going to be able to hold it together. "Sweetheart, it's okay. I'm okay."

 

She can't stop crying long enough to say anything, so their entire conversation is made up of her hiccups and Kurt's reassurance to her that he's coming home to her, that she and Grayson can visit tomorrow after school. He feels wrung out when Carole finally pries the phone from her hands and gives it to Grayson.

 

"Hi, Papa," comes his sweet voice through the line.

 

"Hi, Gray," Kurt sighs, wiping his own eyes with the back of his hand. "I miss you guys so much …"

 

"Nana says we can visit you tomorrow," he says. "Is that true?"

 

"It's true," Kurt says. "I can't wait."

 

"I drew you another picture," Grayson tells him. "I know it won't make you better, but-"

 

"I bet," he interrupts, "that it will make me feel better than _anything_ these doctors have been doing for me."

 

"You really think so?"

 

"I know it," Kurt says, squeezing Blaine's hand.

 

"You would be so proud of me, Papa, I've been so brave for Nana. I haven't even cried _once_ this afternoon, and I ate all my s'getti for dinner."

 

Kurt has to bite his lip. "I am _so_ proud of you, Gray. Maybe since you're being so brave, you can give your sister a hug and help her to be brave, too."

 

"Mads was afraid you died," Gray tells him. "I think she's crying 'cause she's _real_ glad you didn't."

 

"Oh, sweetie, no," Kurt says, tugging on Blaine's hand to get him to come closer, holding it up to his cheek. "No, I didn't die. Give her a hug for me, okay? Tell her I love her. And let her crawl in bed with you if she gets scared tonight."

 

"She can sleep with Panda, too, if she wants," Grayson says, offering one of his prized stuffed animals. "I've tried to be extra-kind to her today – she's cried a lot, Papa."

 

Kurt knows he doesn't have the whole story yet – he hasn't pushed Blaine for details, but it must've been pretty bad for Madison to have fallen apart like she has. Of the two of them, she's not really the crier.

 

"I'm very proud of you," he repeats, and suddenly he's exhausted again. It's so irritating, the way it comes out of nowhere, smacking him in the face, making him want to sink into sleep the way you'd sink into a pool, quick and heady. "Grayson, bud? I just got really tired, so I think I'm gonna take a rest – but I'll see you tomorrow afternoon, okay?"

 

"Okay, Papa. Have sweet dreams."

 

"Thanks, Gray. I love you. And hey, will you put Mads back on, just for a second?"

 

His little boy obliges, and Kurt sighs into the phone. "Madison? Are you okay, honey?"

 

"Yeah," she says, her voice still thick with tears. "I'm sorry, Papa – I just miss you. And Daddy."

 

"I know, sweetheart, and you've been so brave for so long – just be brave a little longer, and everything will all turn out okay. Pop-pop will be home soon, too – he just left the hospital a few minutes ago. Maybe you can get him to read you a bedtime story."

 

"Oh, good," she says, sniffling. "Pop-pop always knows how to make me feel better."

 

"Mmm, me too. He's good at that," Kurt tells her. "Listen, sweetie, I've got to go rest, but I love you, okay?"

 

"Okay. I love you too, Papa."

 

Kurt hands the phone to Blaine to say goodnight to them as well, sinking back into his pillow.

 

" _God_ , I miss them," he sighs once Blaine's hung up. He can feel himself slipping back into sleep.

 

Blaine nods. "Me too. They're pretty incredible."

 

"Hold my hand for a while?" Kurt asks, his words beginning to slur. It's like they've put something in his IV, it hits him so fast. He's never had sleep like this before his hospital stay, wonders if it's the leftover medication, or his heart, or both. "I might be out for a while – I'm so tired, Blaine."

 

Blaine bends, kisses his forehead. "Sleep, sweetheart. I'll be right here."

 

* * *

 

That night, after removing Kurt's catheter, the first of the tubes to go, Paul lets Blaine do Kurt's bath solo.

 

"I don't think I need to threaten you any more than this," he tells Blaine as he brings a stack of towels and places them on Kurt's bedside table. "That pacer comes out? He could code. He could _die_. That line gets pulled? Surgery. I'm letting you do this because I think your head is screwed on your shoulders pretty well, but I don't want you to miss the gravity of it."

 

Blaine laughs nervously. "Now I'm not so sure I even _want_ to."

 

Paul smiles. "Sorry, I only meant to scare you a _little_ – you'll be fine. Just, you know, don't yank on anything."

 

"And you'll be … where?"

 

He points. "Right out there, at the nurses' station. Just a few steps away."

 

"Okay …"

 

Paul walks out, shuts the door behind him. Blaine takes a big sigh, looks at the pile of bath stuff Paul had left them.

 

"Are you nervous?" he asks, turning to Kurt.

 

Kurt raises his eyebrows. "Are you?"

 

Blaine grins. "Absolutely terrified. But the other option is to leave you sitting in your own filth, so …"

 

"We've done scarier," Kurt smiles. "Let's do it. It's just a bath."

 

Blaine starts out with shaking hands, petrified of doing Kurt any harm, but in the end, it's the most relaxed he's been in 48 hours. They end up laughing through half of it; he's making the _biggest_ mess, _everything_ is wet. Apparently experience is everything when it comes to giving bed baths, and he's got none of it.

 

On top of that, two days in the bed, basically one and a half completely immobile, broken ribs to boot, and Kurt's a little weak. He tries to turn on his side, ends up yelping in pain and flopping over like a fish, flailing for the bed rail, and accidentally hits the button making his feet rise up in the air. The harder he laughs, the weaker he gets, until he's basically a ragdoll in the bed.

 

After Blaine finally stops laughing himself, he rights Kurt's feet and gently rolls him, kissing his temple, his cheek, his hair. "I love you," he whispers, and feels like his heart's grown wings when Kurt smiles up at him, adoration in his tired eyes, and says it back.

 

"What would I do without you?" Kurt asks, his cheek leaning on the bedrail, one arm curled through it, holding himself to one side as Blaine washes his back.

 

The wings are gone then, as Blaine tries not to think about the same question, reversed, and how close he was to actually finding out.

 

"Isn't this just part of the husbandly vows?" he says instead, rubbing his hand over Kurt's shoulder blade. "In sickness and in health, right? I think that's inclusive of bed baths." He dries Kurt's back with a towel, eases him back in the bed, hands him a toothbrush. "You get to do this yourself tonight," he says. "I did it for you while you were sleeping – it was weird."

 

Kurt smiles. "That _is_ weird. Ah, the things we do for love."

 

"Right?" Blaine says, bringing him a cup of water to brush his teeth with. "Want your hair washed tonight?" he asks when Kurt's done.

 

"Please," Kurt says. "I feel like I'm rotting."

 

Blaine laughs. "It's only been since last night, baby. And Paul gave you a much better bath than I did."

 

"Yeah, but – ugh, I've been in this bed for two days, no time to walk or air out or anything. I feel disgusting."

 

Blaine makes a sympathetic face. "I'm sorry. I'm just – I'm sorry you're having to go through this. All of it. If I could switch places with you –"

 

"I know, honey, but then you'd be in the bed and _I'd_ be worried and it would be just as much of a mess," Kurt says, taking his hand. "I'm sure you'll have your turn eventually – bodies don't last forever, you know."

 

Blaine doesn't want to think about that, either. "Let's get your hair washed." He lays the bed flat, like Paul did the night before, tries to stack towels around Kurt's shoulders, but the bed's pretty much a lost cause at this point regardless. He massages the shampoo into Kurt's scalp, smiling at Kurt's happy sighs.

 

"Can you just keep doing that?" Kurt asks, eyes closed, looking serene. "This is the best I've felt all day."

 

Blaine, more than happy to be doing something helpful for once, obliges. There's lather everywhere, all over the towels, all over the sheets, but he just keeps rubbing, massaging, trying to make Kurt as blissful as it's possible to be in an ICU bed with tubes everywhere.

 

"Sing to me?"

 

Blaine barely hears his request, it comes out so soft, and he's pretty sure Kurt's falling asleep again – it worries him just a little, how _much_ Kurt's sleeping – but he's happy to do anything Kurt asks right now.

 

" _Goodnight my angel, time to close your eyes_ ," Blaine sings. It's an old Billy Joel song, one that they sing the twins at bedtime. He sings and massages, sings and rubs, and tears come to his eyes when he gets a few lines in. " _I promised I would never leave you, and you should always know, no matter where you go, no matter where you are, I never will be far away_."

 

He keeps singing as he rinses Kurt's hair, an ambitious endeavor when Kurt's in bed with _extremely_ lathered hair and a dressing on his neck that really needs to stay dry. He keeps singing as he dries Kurt's hair off with a towel, carefully changes his hospital gown, and ends with a sweet kiss on Kurt's lips.

 

"I'm gonna go get Paul," he murmurs, "and he's going to help me change your bed, and then you can sleep, okay?"

 

By the time he's back, Kurt's out, breathing slow and deep amidst the wet sheets.

 

"Thank you," he tells Paul as they quietly gather Kurt's clean bedding. "I think we both really needed that."

 

"I thought you might," Paul says, motioning for Blaine to move to the opposite side of the bed. He helps Blaine roll Kurt over again, and Kurt stirs.

 

"We'll be all done in just a few minutes, sweetheart," Blaine says, planting another kiss on his cheek as Paul strips half of the bed, replacing the wet sheets with dry ones.

 

"I hope," Paul says quietly once they're done and Kurt's settled, blankets pulled up to his chin, "that I can have what you guys have someday."

 

Blaine smiles. "It's not all rainbows and sunshine. Obviously," he says, gesturing to Kurt in the bed. "But it's good. It's nothing like I thought it would be when we first got engaged, but in so many ways it's so much better than that." He tips his head, gazes at his husband. "I'm ready to get back to normal, though."

 

"Hopefully it'll be soon," Paul says. "I'm guessing you'll see a lot of progress tomorrow, since he's finally awake and oriented again."

 

"I hope so." He looks back up at Paul. "Thank you," he says, "for all your help. And for caring. It means a lot."

 

"Just part of the job," Paul shrugs. "I'm here till eleven. Let me know if you need anything, okay?"

 

The door shuts behind him, and they're alone again.

 

* * *

 

Monday

The next morning, Kurt gets a breakfast tray just as Burt and Carole are coming in to see him.

 

"I have never been so grateful to see Jell-O in my entire life," he says, grinning at Blaine as he lifts the lid off the tray.

 

"Mmm, I remember that," Burt says. "That first taste is always incredible. Savor it, because it'll get real old, _real_ fast. What flavor you got over there?"

 

"Cherry, maybe? Strawberry? Whatever it is, it's red," he says, digging in with his spoon. "Oh, god, you're right," he moans, slurping an entire cube into his mouth, "artificial food coloring never tasted so good."

 

"Ah, Mr. Hummel. Nice to see you alert and oriented." Dr. Gomez, Kurt's intensivist, strides into the room.

 

Kurt sits up in rapt attention, but not before slurping another Jell-O cube into his mouth. The doctor grins.  


"Taste good?"

 

"Amazing," Kurt answers, smiling even though he knows his tongue and teeth are probably dyed red.

 

"Good. I was glad to be able to write that order this morning. Many of your tests have come back, Mr. Hummel," Dr. Gomez tells him. "I don't know how much your husband has informed you of, but the reason you collapsed is because you are suffering from a condition called AV heart block. We diagnosed you with myocarditis on admission, but we weren't sure why you contracted _that._ Based on the information your husband and you have given us, it seems that the virus you had several weeks ago was one called the coxsackie B virus, and it seems that the virus attacked your heart. Your myocarditis is not severe, but the inflammation occurred right at the AV node where the heart's electrical impulses come from. We do not know yet, at this point, if the damage is permanent or not."

 

Kurt blinks at him. It's a lot to take in, especially when all he's gotten is bits and pieces of information until now.

 

The doctor continues. "Before collapsing in the library, do you remember having any other spells where you fainted, or your heart felt strange?"

 

Oh, _god_ , why is he asking in front of Blaine? "Umm …" He pauses. "No fainting spells, no, but my heart – I would have these spells where it felt like it was just flapping, and I'd get dizzy, and sometimes my chest would hurt."

 

Blaine looks at him, shocked. " _What_?"

 

"I'm sorry," he apologizes, shooting him the 'not-now-we'll-talk-about-it-later look.' "I was – maybe a little in denial or something –"

 

"No matter," Dr. Gomez pipes up, "what's done is done. Next time, though, it might be wise to see a physician about any issues you might have." He makes a note in his chart, and Kurt's getting antsy.

 

"So, do you know why I was _comatose_ for a day and a half?" he asks.

 

"I don’t know that I would call what you experienced a true _coma_.Your body was in a state of stress," Dr. Gomez explains. "Your arrhythmia combined with the concussion you received when you fell and hit your head caused you to lose consciousness, and the pain medications we had to give you probably didn't help. There is no sign of bleeding, and you have no signs of brain damage. Sometimes we do not know why the body chooses to shut down for certain amounts of time – we should all just be glad that yours chose to 'reboot' itself, so to speak."

 

"So what about his heart?" Blaine asks from the chair beside his bed, apparently choosing to put the issue behind him for now, which Kurt is grateful for. "How do we know if he's going to continue to have problems?"

 

"We turn the pacer off, but continue to monitor the heart. If Mr. Hummel experiences another episode of bradycardia, we will insert a permanent pacemaker."

 

Blaine blanches. "Turn it _off_? But – that sounds _dangerous_ , what if his heart _stops_ this time? I was reading online, and every site I looked at said that Kurt's condition can cause that –"

 

"I assure you, we will monitor your husband as closely as we have been the entire time he's been here," the doctor says patiently. "If an event happens, we simply have to turn the pacer back on."

 

"It'll be fine, honey," Kurt says, reaching out to squeeze his hand, reassure him. "I have to ask, though, Dr. Gomez, how long before I get _this_ thing out?" He points to the line in his jugular vein.

 

The doctor smiles. "Let's wait and see how the pacing goes; then we will talk about removing your line. Any other questions?"

 

Kurt shakes his head, the doctor nods at them and leaves the room.

 

"Well. Isn't that just perfect," Kurt quips. "I almost got killed by a virus that sounds an awful lot like 'cocksucker.'"

 

Burt looks at Carole and raises his eyebrows from across the room, and Blaine shoots him a look. "I'm glad you think it's so amusing," Blaine says, a harsh tone to his voice.

 

"No, really. A _cocksucker_ broke my _heart_ ," he says, grinning. "Come on. It's at least a little funny."

 

"Oh my god," Carole mutters, rolling her eyes and chuckling. Burt cracks, snorting and also rolling his eyes, but smiling all the same.

 

"You are somethin' else, Kurt."

 

Blaine, however, doesn't seem to see the humor. "Are you serious right now?"

 

"I'm sorry," Kurt says, a bit affronted, and his tone shows it. "Pardon me for trying to make light of a bad situation–"

 

"A bad _situation_?" Blaine says, nearly yelling. "Kurt, you could have _died_. You were having symptoms and you didn't even _tell_ me –" He has a pained expression on his face as he practically throws himself out of his chair. "I need to get out of here for a minute," he says sullenly. "I'm gonna go find some coffee."

 

Kurt sighs. "Blaine, wait."

 

He keeps walking, doesn't look back.

 

" _Blaine_."

 

The door shuts with a louder-than-necessary bang, and Kurt flops his head back on his pillow. "Why does he have to be so _dramatic_ , especially when he _knows_ I can't chase after him …"

 

"I'll go talk to him," Burt says with a sigh, grunting as he rises from his chair. "Old bones aren't what they used to be ..."

 

As the door shuts behind his dad and he and Carole are alone, he flops his head back on the pillow again. _God_ , he hates being bedridden.

 

"I feel like he's overreacting," he says. "Is he overreacting?"

 

Carole regards him with sympathy in her face, and comes over to his bed. "I don't know if that's a question I can answer for you," she says. "But I will tell you – being on the other side of this bed, as a spouse? It's not easy, honey. Cutting him a little slack right now, at least until you both get out of this hospital, might not be a terrible idea."

 

"Am I being a jerk? Oh god, I am, aren't I?"

 

She smiles. "I don’t think that, either. It's just _hard_. Blaine's scared to death, and from the looks of you, you're bored out of your mind, and on top of that you both miss the kids. I'm sure Burt will talk some sense into him down there, but the two of you probably need to have a conversation."

 

Kurt sighs, and Carole smiles at him.

 

"Just give him a little time – he _did_ sit by your bed while you were unconscious for a day and a half. The least you could do for him is have a little patience."

 

"Mmm, you're right." He takes her hand in his, rubs his thumb over the back of it. "I'm sorry you have to be here," he says softly, not meeting her eyes. "I know you don't like hospitals, after …"

 

"I'm just glad that you're okay," she says, lifting his chin up with her other hand. "Don’t you go checking out on me, too. I don't know if I can stand to lose another son in this lifetime."

 

"Oh, believe me, I don't plan to," he tells her. "Come here." It's the sweetest hug she gives him, and though she didn't come into his life until he was sixteen and difficult, she's always felt like a mother to him. He's glad she's here.

 

* * *

 

Blaine hears his name before he sees his father-in-law. He's pacing around the lobby of the hospital like a tiger in a cage, sipping on a cup of too-hot coffee. He doesn't even care that he's seared half the taste buds off his tongue.

 

"You're gonna land your _self_ in the hospital with heart problems if you keep that kind of coffee habit up," Burt quips as he approaches.

 

It's like a brand, the hand that he places on Blaine's shoulder, and Blaine immediately shrugs it off.

 

"Okay, okay," Burt says, holding his hands up in surrender. "Sorry. You wanna tell me what crawled up your ass this morning? And if you make a dick joke, I'm pouring that cup of coffee on your head."

 

Blaine doesn't crack a smile. Instead, he whirls around and, anguished, says, "I just thought _you_ of _all people_ would understand …"

 

Burt's face falls a little, and his head tilts to one side like a puppy's. "Me?"

 

"Yeah. _You_." A little wave of guilt makes Blaine's whole body pang for a moment, but he just can't keep it in. "You've lost a spouse before, if you recall."

 

Burt raises his eyebrows. "If I re _call_?" He's got that same, scary, 'get-off-my-lawn' face that Blaine's seen half a dozen times before, and he has to physically keep himself from shrinking back. "If I _recall_ , you _haven't_ lost a spouse. So. Your point?"

 

Blaine's about _this_ close from shaking apart. He's held it together this whole time, never telling anyone about the nightmares he wakes in a cold sweat from, the ones where Kurt never stops breathing again, the ones where he's trying to do chest compressions but Kurt's chest just won't be pumped.

 

"No," he snaps. "No, I didn't lose a spouse, but I sure as hell _thought_ I was going to; I did _CPR_ on him for Christ's sake, and I just thought _you_ of all people would understand what that's like. I'm glad you can find the _humor_ in the situation though; that's _great_." He frowns, mumbles, "Fucking _cocksucker_ , oh my god …"

 

"Okay," Burt says, taking a deep breath and swiping his hand down his face, looking entirely exhausted. "Okay, I think everybody's a little hyper-emotional right now. Let's back up."

 

Blaine can't seem to drop his hackles, and presses himself up against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.

 

"Have you talked to him about it?"

 

"What?"

 

"About that day, what happened in the library. Have you let him know that you did CPR on him, have you told him how traumatic it was for you and the kids?"

 

"I –" Blaine looks at the floor. "Not yet, no."

 

"Okay, well that's where I'd start. He isn't a mind-reader, Blaine, and he woke up so confused – there's no way he remembers any of it. I get why you're upset, I _swear_ I do, but you've got to communicate with him or _he_ won't ever understand it."

 

Blaine sighs heavily, leans up against the closest wall for support. "I know. I know that." He rubs a hand over his face. "I'm sorry; I was out of line–"

 

"Not the first time," Burt interrupts drily, and Blaine's relieved when he smiles and claps him on the shoulder. "Probably won't be the last, either. Look, I know my kid. He's stubborn and defiant and hard as hell to live with, and I know it can't be that much better now than it was when he was a teenager. He should've come to you and told you that he was feeling bad; he should've gone to the doctor. But he didn't. It's kind of a trend with Kurt, doing more than he should. I think you probably know that." He pauses. "But what I think you need to hear again, right now, is that he's a really tough guy because of it, and he's going to be okay. Hear me?"

 

There are tears in Blaine's eyes when he takes his hand away from his face. Luckily it's not the first time Burt's ever seen him cry, either. "Burt. The kids …"

 

"I know," Burt says.

 

"They're the same age Kurt was when he lost his mom," he says quietly. "And – _both_ of them –"

 

"You'd be surprised what you can do when forced," Burt says gently. "But Blaine, you _weren't_. He's _here,_ he's right up _there,_ in fact." He points at the ceiling. "Go talk to your husband. You're gonna have a whole other emotional rollercoaster to deal with when the kids get here this afternoon."

 

Blaine nods. "Okay. Just – do you mind telling him I'll be up there in a few minutes? I think I need to walk around outside for a bit, clear my head, figure out what I need to say and how I need to say it."

 

"You got it kid. But you chicken out of this? I know where you live."

 

He cracks a smile for the first time. "Yes, sir." Burt squeezes his shoulder and walks back toward the elevators, and Blaine walks out the double doors in the lobby to the teeming sidewalk outside the hospital.

 

* * *

 

"No fair, running away when I can't get out of bed to chase after you," Kurt says softly when Blaine's head pokes through his door, a sheepish look on his face.

 

"I'm sorry."

 

"Don't be sorry," Kurt says. "Come, sit. Let's talk before the nurses have a chance to carry out their crazy plan to get me in a chair today."

 

"What!?" Blaine exclaims.

 

"Yep. One more step closer to busting out of this joint," Kurt says, smiling. "Come here."

 

It's a relief, feeling the mattress sink underneath him as Blaine sits.

 

"That'd be our cue to exit," Burt says. "Wanna go get a cup of New York joe, honey?" he asks Carole. "My treat."

 

She grins and takes his hand. "It's a date."

 

Burt comes over to say his goodbyes, and Kurt pecks a kiss on his cheek as he bends to hug him. "Thanks, Dad," he says. "For everything."

 

Once they're alone, he rests his hand on Blaine's thigh. "Can we talk about what that was about? Your dramatic storm-out? One would think you were still an actor," he says, trying to lighten the mood. He's not sure it works.

 

"I think – I might still be processing?" Blaine starts, hesitant.

 

"Processing …" Kurt prods.

 

"All of …" Blaine makes an adorable flailing motion with his hands. "Well, this." He pauses. "And when you were – Kurt, you were talking gibberish just a day ago. You were _unconscious_ a day and a half ago. I just think it might be a little soon to be joking about cocksuckers when you nearly died."

 

" _Did_ I nearly die, though?" Kurt asks, serious. "I'm not trying to be a smart ass, I'm legitimately asking. I – I don't remember much after I took the twins to the kids' section."

 

Blaine takes a breath, his eyes growing cloudy. "Do you really want to know what happened?" Kurt nods. "Okay. This is – it's not easy, Kurt –"

 

"Hey," he says gently, pulling Blaine's hand up to his chest. "I'm here. I'm breathing. I'm okay."

 

"Okay," Blaine says, taking another deep breath, blows it out through pursed lips. "So, from what I could gather, you started feeling bad when you were with the twins, and you told Mads to find me. I was in the adult section – I heard her screaming my name, and when I ran out of the stacks, I saw her dragging you toward the desk –" He pauses, swallowing. "You, um, you said my name, and then you collapsed in the floor. Kurt, you didn't have a pulse –" His voice cracks and he stops, looks at the ground while Kurt's heart speeds up inside his chest, no help from the pacing wire needed. "I, um, I had to do CPR on you."

 

"Oh, god –" Kurt's words come out on a sharp inhale; he feels like he can't quite breathe.

 

Blaine swallows again. "So I think, yes, you nearly died."

 

He meets Blaine's eyes, sees orbs of honey clouded with tears. "Oh, _Blaine_." He can't brush them away fast enough, the big, fat drops that fall from his husband's lovely eyes onto his hospital gown. "Why didn't you tell me?"

 

"It was –" Blaine pauses, laughs drily to himself, swiping at his face with the back of his hand. "It was like a fucking nightmare. Mads was _screaming_ the entire time. Gray was hiding somewhere. You weren't breathing, _god_ …" He bows his head, shoulders shuddering once.

 

"But then I did. I'm sorry," Kurt whispers, drawing Blaine into his weakened arms. "I'm sorry you had to do that."

 

"I _hurt_ you," Blaine says, more of a whimper than anything else, running his fingers down Kurt's chest. "You keep talking about how bad your chest hurts – it's your ribs. The doctor said – I cracked a few –"

 

"Hey, _shhh_ , no," he soothes, running his fingers through Blaine's hair, and now he's crying, too. "You made my heart beat, Blaine. I –" He laughs, tears rolling down his cheeks. "You've been making my heart beat since eleventh grade."

 

Blaine crumbles, wrapping his arms around his torso like he's trying to keep his own body from shattering.

 

"Blaine, it's okay –"

 

"Maybe they need to medicate _me_ ," Blaine sniffles, turning his face away; Kurt can barely make it out.

 

"Hey, honey, look at me. Why do you say that?" He rubs Blaine's back with one shaky hand until Blaine finally turns back to him, face red, eyes swollen.

 

"I'm mad at you," comes Blaine's trembling voice. "You almost _died,_ and you _didn't,_ and somehow I'm still mad at you. Who gets mad at somebody in an ICU?"

 

Kurt tries to keep his face gentle. "Are you mad at me because this happened, or are you mad because I didn't tell you what was going on with me before?"

 

Blaine shrugs helplessly. "Both? I don't know, definitely that last part."

 

"I think," Kurt starts slowly, "that considering the circumstances, you're allowed to be mad at me for that."

 

Blaine sniffles, wipes his eyes again. "Also for making jokes about almost leaving me," he says, and brings a fresh set of tears to Kurt's eyes. It dawns on him that while the thought of nearly dying is scary, being left alone, no husband, two kids, is almost scarier. And not only that – Kurt's own fear is abstract. Blaine probably has nightmares after having to breathe life back into his own husband.

 

"It was a terrible joke," he says, wiping his own eyes. "Really, truly terrible. God, I'm an asshole, aren't I?"

 

"No, baby." Blaine shakes his head, brushing his tear-wet fingers down Kurt's cheek. "Never."

 

"Mmm, _some_ times," Kurt counters, and Blaine lets out a very wet laugh.

 

"God, I'm so glad you're alive."

 

Kurt scoots up in the bed, pulls Blaine in for a _real_ hug, the kind where Blaine tucks his face into Kurt's shoulder, made more difficult by the fact that the shoulder Blaine _usually_ tucks his face into is blocked by Kurt's central line, so they fumble around a bit before getting comfortable.

 

"Do you want to know what I was thinking when we were in the cab on the way to the hospital?"

 

"What's that?"

 

Blaine shifts around again until he's spooning Kurt in the bed, backward from how they normally lay. "Do you remember right after we first met, you called me when your dad was in the hospital. And you just talked to me for _hours_ , because you said you felt like nobody else would listen to you?"

 

"Mmm-hmm," Kurt murmurs.

 

"I don't remember a lot of specifics about that conversation, but one thing I do – you told me that if your dad died, you would be an orphan," he says. "And – I don't know, the whole cab ride, I thought about that, and how if you died, I'd be a … well, would I be a widower? Whatever that term is that applies to us."

 

Kurt's heart sinks a little.

 

"I was so _terrified_ of you leaving me all alone. The kids were just _wailing_ , and I remember thinking, like, I _can't_ do this, this isn't happening … and I never had a chance to freak out about it. Until now. I'm sorry it came off as anger."

 

"Well, like I said, I think you have a right to be angry about the fact that I hid some pretty major stuff from you," Kurt tells him, pulling Blaine's arm around himself a little tighter. "I was in denial, I think – I should've gone to the doctor about it, and I'm sorry for that. As far as everything else goes, I'm not planning on leaving you anytime soon, honey, but if something awful happens … you're the best dad I know, other than my own. I would hate it for you, but the kids? They'd be okay, because I know they'd be with you."

 

He hears Blaine sniffle behind him. "Can we maybe not talk about that?" he asks. "Maybe talk about how awesome it's going to be to see them this afternoon instead?"

 

Kurt smiles. "I _do_ miss them."

 

" _God_ , so do I," Blaine agrees, pushing his knees up even closer against Kurt's. "Maybe we can even orchestrate their visit with you getting up in the chair. I think it'd be less scary for them to see you sitting up."

 

"I'll talk to Monique. But in a minute. Right now, I like this." Blaine cuddles closer to him and he scoots back, his sore back and ribs pressed against Blaine's solid chest. It's a nice role reversal – Kurt's usually the one spooning Blaine, since historically Blaine's been the one that needs holding worse. It's not that he's weaker, but they handle things so differently.

 

"I like this, too," Blaine whispers. "I should be the big spoon more often."

 

"Mmmm," Kurt agrees, then turns uncomfortably, trying to crane his neck to look back at Blaine. It doesn't work, but Blaine moves instead, hovering over Kurt so his face is in sight.

 

"What is it? Are you okay?"

 

Kurt smiles. "I'm good. I just – I'm not sure how to thank you," he says. "This is the second time you've saved my life, you've sat here with me for three solid days, you're taking care of me and making sure the kids are okay, and I just – I don't know how to make it up to you."

 

Blaine's eyes soften into the lovesick gaze he's never really gotten over. "Kurt, sweetheart, you don't have to make anything up to me. Having you alive is all the thanks I'll ever need."

 

* * *

 

The kids arrive that afternoon in a flurry of backpacks and squeals.

 

Kurt's sitting up in the chair eating another bowl of Jell-O, his dessert after a lunch of chicken broth, and oh, clear liquids never tasted so good. He's got his eyes closed, savoring, letting it melt on his tongue when they burst through the door, bringing life and color into an otherwise-dull ICU room.

 

"Guys, wait, be careful –" comes Blaine's warning, but it's too late, the kids _glomp_ on him, little arms slung around any part of him they can reach.

[](http://s1224.photobucket.com/user/aprilskinner/media/april2_zps03280fa7.jpg.html)

 

"Whoa, whoa," he laughs, reaching down for them, still not able to pick them up, but he's compelled to touch them, to brush his fingers through their hair.

 

"Well," comes Carole's voice from his doorway, "look who's up in a chair today!"

 

Kurt grins at her, waves. "I'll be dancing again in no time," he says. "Are you coming in?"

 

She shakes her head. "Up half the night with these two – I'm in dire straits for another cup of coffee. And you guys need some family time anyway – I'll be back in a little while."

 

"Carole, please, don't feel like you're imposing," Blaine says, but Carole waves him off.

 

Kurt's attention turns back to his children as she walks out the door, and he finds himself looking down at Madison's awed face. "Papa," she breathes, reaching her fingers up to brush against his cheek. "You're okay."

 

"He is," Blaine says, grinning. "Come here, you guys, Daddy missed you too."

 

The twins run to him then, and he picks them both up at once, forearms and biceps flexing with their weight. Kurt watches him squeeze around them until they beg him to stop.

 

"Daddy!" Mads shrieks. "You're squishing us!" He's so thankful that his time on this earth didn't get cut so very short. There's still so much joy to experience.

 

"May I give Papa my drawing?" Grayson asks, still in Blaine's tight grip, and Blaine smiles and puts him down. He runs over, pulls his prized gift out of his pocket and presents it to Kurt.

 

Kurt unfolds it to find a picture of a man – "It's you, Papa!" – painstakingly drawn on a piece of blue construction paper. It's neater than Grayson's usual drawings, with a heart in the middle of his shirt, little x's carefully placed down its center. He can clearly see how much effort his son put into it. "See? I fixed your heart in the picture. Those are stitches, like Mads had to get on her head that time."

 

He brushes his fingers over the paper, tears springing to his eyes. He can only imagine what it was like for them, watching him fall, not moving, Blaine leaning over him …

 

"Do you like it?"

 

Kurt smiles. "It's beautiful," he says. "Will you very carefully crawl up in my lap so I can give you a hug?"

 

His little boy does what he asks, holding onto the chair rather than Kurt as he climbs up. His face is bright, eyes and smile wide, and he stretches his arms out for a hug. But just as Kurt leans forward to meet him, Gray's arms fall down to his sides.

 

"Papa?" he asks. "Why are there … those _things_ in your neck?"

 

Madison swings her head around to see what Grayson is talking about, makes a face.

 

"It's how the doctors are giving me some medicine right now," Kurt says.

 

Madison frowns. "When we have to take medicine, we get it in a spoon."

 

"I know, sweetheart, but this is special medicine," Blaine explains. "Papa's a special kind of sick."

 

"I don't ever want to be that kind of sick," Madison says, burying her head in Blaine's shoulder, making Kurt's heart ache.

 

"Mmm, we never want you to, either," Blaine murmurs into her hair.

 

Kurt looks at Gray, his expression serious. It's so hard to know how to handle this situation with anyone, but his seven-year-old twins, who've already been through so much … he doesn't want to screw this up. "Does it scare you, bud?"

 

"I don't know," he says slowly. "Does it hurt?"

 

"Not really," Kurt tells him. "I can kind of feel it sometimes, and I don’t think it would feel very good if somebody yanked on it, but it doesn't _hurt_."

 

His son's forehead crinkles as he looks at it with deep concentration. Blaine's still rocking Madison back and forth; her head remains buried in his shoulder.

 

"Do you think it would make it hurt if I gave you a hug?" Grayson asks. "I really want to give you a hug, Papa."

 

"Well, Daddy's hugged me a bunch of times already today and _he_ never hurt me," Kurt tells him, "so I think that if you're very gentle, it will be just fine."

 

"Well … if you're sure," he says, and reaches his arms out again. Kurt pulls him in, cuddling his little warm body into his hospital gown. "Papa," Grayson continues, playing with a tie on the gown, "why are you wearing a dress?"

 

Blaine snorts a laugh from across the room, and Kurt grins, burying his own face in _Grayson's_ shoulder. "I love you," he whispers, then pecks a kiss on his cheek. "It's so the doctors and nurses can get to me easy when they have to do stuff to me."

 

Gray pulls back. "Like _what_?"

 

"Like give him a bath," Blaine supplies. "Remember I told you guys I had to help give Papa a bath the other day while he was still sleeping? He couldn't do it by himself, and we didn't want him to be all stinky!"

 

Kurt hears Madison's giggle before he sees her face. "Daddy, Papa's _never_ stinky."

 

"Ohhh, don't be so sure about that," Blaine says, setting her down in the chair that's become his home the past several days, crouching in front of her. "You've never been through a hot yoga class with Papa before."

 

Kurt's grateful – it brings her out of her shell enough to turn around, look at him again, and he motions for her to come to him. "Listen, Mads, I know everything has been so, so scary lately. I never want anything like this to happen to you ever again. But I haven't seen you in three days, and I've really, really missed you – it would make me feel so much better if I could have a hug from you, too."

 

She looks up at Blaine, and he smiles, nods encouragingly. "I think it'll make _you_ feel so much better, too, Mads," he tells her.

 

"Okay," she says, caution in her voice, and she walks painfully slowly to him. Blaine follows her, scoops Grayson up out of Kurt's lap and replaces him with Madison.

 

"Come here, sweetheart," Kurt says, and wraps her in a hug. Her tears come quickly and he lets her cry in his lap, rubbing her back as she sobs.

 

"I thought you were _dead_ ," she says, replicating the conversation they'd had on the phone the night before. "I – Daddy was trying to make you breathe in the library and you _weren't_ , you weren't _moving_ , and –"

 

"I know," he whispers, holding her impossibly tightly, not caring that she's pressing uncomfortably on his pacing wire. "I know sweetheart. But I'm breathing now."

 

Grayson crawls up into Blaine's lap on Kurt's hospital bed, curls into his chest while his sister cries out both of their fears, and Blaine hooks his chin over the top of Gray's head.

 

"See?" Kurt says, thumbing her tears away when she finally stops, her face ruddy, her nose red. "A good cry always makes us feel better, right?"

 

She nods. "Right." A sniffle. "Papa, are you coming home soon?"

 

He sighs. "I sure hope so, sweetie."

 

Blaine's up till midnight that night at the hospital working on lesson plans, trying to play catch-up and fit two days' worth of lessons into one. As much as he _hates_ it, he's going back to school the next day – he only has so much time off, and he doesn't want to use it all before Kurt comes home.

 

His laptop's casting a blue, unnatural light into the room, a little brighter than all Kurt's monitors, when Kurt rolls over to face him. "Call it a night?" he says. "You've been working for 3 hours. It's just middle school chorus, honey."

 

It's not _just_ anything, middle school chorus included – he's also got his theory classes, and all his kids _need_ him. Sometimes he thinks that the chorus is their only sense of stability in such a chaotic world; he feels the pressure of the self-worth of seventy-some-odd middle schoolers, his main goal is to give them enough purpose to keep them out of gangs and violence when they get older. He's lucky he's at a school that even _has_ a music program; it's only grant money that he tirelessly applies for that even keeps it open.

 

But he doesn't say any of that to Kurt. All of that's his own burden to bear, not Kurt's cross – Kurt saves the world in other ways.

 

What he _does_ is smile, close his laptop, and lean over to place a soft kiss on Kurt's lips.

 

"I'm sorry I kept you up. I'm gonna miss you tomorrow."

 

"Try not to worry _too_ much, okay?" Kurt asks. "Dad and Carole will be with me the whole time you're gone."

 

"I know they will," Blaine says. "It's not that, it's just – they can't keep your heart from doing weird things when they turn the pacer off."

 

Kurt smiles back at him, gentle and understanding. "I know they can't, but as much as you want to, Blaine, neither can you. I'm sure everything will be fine. But I'm sure everything will go _better_ if I'm not exhausted, so maybe let's try to get some sleep?"

 

"Of course. I love you."

 

"Love you too."

 

Blaine snuggles down into the horrible chair he's been sleeping in for three nights now, trying to get as comfortable as he can – best-case scenario, he wakes with a crick in his neck _or_ his back. He's near dozing when he feels a hand brush against his shoulder.

 

"Blaine? Thank you for saving my life. You know. The second time."

 

He sucks in a breath, blinks back the inevitable tears, and takes Kurt's hand.

 

* * *

 

Tuesday

Blaine checks his phone constantly that morning, every ten minutes or so, terrified that something will go wrong. During first period theory class, he had a quiet, internal freak-out after a string of eight unanswered text messages to Burt.

 

Turns out Kurt was painting Carole's nails and Burt's phone was in her purse.

 

**From: Burt:**

**Stop worrying so much, kid.**

 

He wants to laugh. What a lost cause, telling him to stop worrying about his husband whose heart might stop today.

 

His second class of the day files in, his first chorus class, all 8th graders, finding their assigned seats in the choir rows, and he's not even paying attention. He's shooting off another text to Carole this time, asking if they've let Kurt eat more than clear liquids, when one of his kids comes up to him.

 

"Mr. Anderson? You okay?" It's DeMarcus, the kind of kid that Kurt always refers to as 'punk-ass,' but Blaine finds the most rewarding, because he makes it his mission to crack their shells. DeMarcus started the year rolling his eyes in the back, a second-year 8th grader, and by now, early April, he's got a solo in the spring concert and is passing all his classes, even has a couple A's.

 

"Sorry, DeMarcus," he says, sighing. "I'm fine. Go back to your seat, please, class is about to start."

 

"Okay, just … your man okay? Mrs. Rochester – who is a _shitty_ sub, yo, maybe you should get another one next time – told us he was sick."

 

"Okay, one? Watch your language in my classroom," Blaine says sternly. "Two –" He breaks off sighing again, runs a hand through his hair. "He's doing better, thanks for asking."

 

"No problem, yo. Let's sing. I'm 'bout to get my _groove_ on."

 

Blaine grins. Maybe it's good for him, being back here, getting out of the hospital for a while.

 

* * *

 

"We've really gotta stop doing this, son, meeting up in hospitals like this," Burt says drily as they wait for Carole to come back with the coffee she'd promised. "Maybe we should try, I don't know, a birthday or something for a change."

 

Kurt smiles. "I'm just glad it was me and not you this time."

 

Burt raises his eyebrows at him. "That makes one of the two of us, then."

 

Kurt chooses to ignore this statement. "I'm _really_ glad it wasn't one of the twins," he says. "God, I don't know what I would've done …"

 

"I'd like not to think about that," Burt says. "The one call from the ER with Mads' stitches last year was more than enough for me."

 

" _Ugghh_ ," Kurt groans, " _head wounds_. I swear, I thought she'd never stop bleeding."

 

"You hit your head once like that when you were really young. Do you remember that?"

 

He thinks back, and – yes, vaguely he does, _years_ ago. "I fell on the … the fireplace, that's what it was," he says.

 

"Damn right. Your mother was still alive then, thank goodness, so I drove like a bat outta hell and she held a cloth to your head." Burt gets a fond look in his eyes. "You weren't crying. You did at first, but you stopped pretty quick – I don't think the blood scared you as much as it did me. You kept telling your mom that it would be okay. I should've known then that you'd grow up to be a hardass."

 

"Mmm, true, but in your defense, I also asked for a pair of heels for Christmas, so I can see your confusion."

 

They're still laughing together when Carole walks back in the room, coffee and pastries in tow.

 

"I got a special treat for our patient since you're on a regular diet now," she smiles, walking to his bed. "You still like cheese danishes, I'm assuming."

 

"Oh my god, you're my _favorite_ ," he sighs, accepting the gifts of coffee and breakfast as she hands them to him. "Just don't tell Blaine."

 

"You'd break that boy's heart," Burt says from the couch, "considering that he's made it his life's missionto be your favorite. Did _I_ get a danish too, honey?"

 

She sighs, but she's smiling, that smile reserved only for Burt that always makes Kurt's insides feel warm and happy. It was for all the wrong reasons, but he's _so_ glad he put them together all those years ago. "I gave in this time," she says, "but don't expect this to become a habit, mister."

 

He grins like a kid on Christmas; two heart attacks and he doesn't get many danishes, not with Carole the Wife-Nurse on duty, and holds out his hands. She perches on his knee, offers him a kiss, and hands him the bag.

 

Kurt's just taken his first bite of danish – oh, _glorious_ sugar – when Monique walks in, smiling. "Okay, Mr. Hummel," she says, picking up the box that controls his pacer. "Ready to do this?"

 

He groans. "Can I finish eating this first?"

 

She tsks at him. "You serious?"

 

"No," he sulks, "I guess not."

 

"Mmm," she muses, "faster this thing goes off, faster you get outta here. I know you're sick to death of being cooped up in the unit, so …"

 

"Fine, turn it off," he says. "Drumroll, please, Dad."

 

He grins and patters his hands on the arm of the chair as Monique pushes the button that turns it off. Kurt waits with bated breath, half-expecting his heart to start flapping in his throat again, and … nothing. He takes a deep breath, feels fine.

 

"Now we wait?" he asks.

 

"Now we wait," Monique parrots back to him.

 

* * *

 

"Okay guys," Blaine says, clapping his hands to call his 6th and 7th graders to order. "That was great – I think we're just about ready to perform that one, which is good, because the spring concert is in three weeks."

 

He can't help but smile back at their grins.

 

"But you know what we _aren't_ ready to perform yet? Get out _Firefly Darkness_ , please."

 

There are groans, and he wonders if he's done the wrong thing, choosing a more difficult piece, but he wants to push them, show them what they could do, how beautiful four-part harmony can be, how _good_ it feels once it comes together.

 

A wave of his hands and the music begins; it always feels like magic. He doesn't know why he didn't always want to direct – it's one thing to make music and another thing to _lead_ it. He grins as his kids start to sing.

 

" _Sing songs of wonder, sing of life begun, of fireflies and full moons over meadows green_ …"

 

* * *

 

"Goodness, I'm sorry I'm so antsy. I'm antsier than _you_ are, and I'm not even the patient …"

 

Carole's up and pacing while Kurt's sitting up in the chair again. It's true, he's beginning to get a little stir-crazy after being in the same room, in the same bed for the last four days. His earlier trip to the bathroom that morning was a bit of a thrill, just to be able to _walk_ more than a foot, and he is _so_ ready to get out of this place.

 

But he also feels for Carole. After they lost Finn, she'd had a hard time, eventually quit her job at the hospital to go work at a dermatology office. The pay's not as good, but at least it's not a constant reminder of the last hours of her son's life.

 

Kurt beckons her over to him, holds her hand in both of his. "You don't have to stay," he says gently. "If it's hard for you, if you even just need a break – go back to our place. You can take a nap, you can have free reign of my kitchen, whatever you need. Just know – I'm not trying to hold you here against your will or anything."

 

"Oh, sweetie," she says sadly, "I _want_ to be here with you. Never think that, please, it's just –"

 

"I know," he tells her. "I promise, I understand. Seriously, do you need a little while? Look at me. I'm fine."

 

It's been four hours now since they turned off his pacer, and so far, nothing. As far as he's concerned, they should give him a clean bill of health, take out all the tubes and wires and send him on his way.

 

She takes a deep breath. "No. No, I'm just being silly. Burt? Did I bring my bag with the crossword puzzle book in it? We could do a crossword together."

 

Burt digs around and unearths it. "That's actually a good idea – we might be able to finish one between the three of us." He and Carole crowd around Kurt's chair, pull the bedside table over so they can all see.

 

"Easy ones first. Rat Pack leader – that's Sinatra," Kurt says. "Three down."

 

"Which would make twenty-three across 'refer,'" Carole says.

 

"Forty-seven across is 'steel,'" Burt offers.

 

"Fifty-two down … become solid," Kurt muses. "I wonder –" His voice stops in his throat. Burt looks over at him.

 

"Kurt?"

 

He wonders if he's gone as white as he feels. It's happening again, come on all of a sudden, that fluttery feeling in his chest. His monitor starts beeping, loud and frenzied, and Carole stumbles up from the chair. It's _amazing_ to him how he can be totally fine one second and the next, totally _not_.

 

"Dad –" he says, his eyes wide. " _Fuck_. Get the nurse." He wants to cry; he thought this was over, and it's clearly not, and now Blaine's going to get a phone call that's going to petrify him and he'll probably get run over by a taxi in his haste to get to the hospital …

 

Carole's curled on the couch, knees pulled to her chin with tears welling in her eyes, Burt's bolted for the door, yelling loud for the nurses that are already running in the direction of his room, and Kurt's just trying to breathe, wondering how something so quick can go in such slow motion. He feels like shit again. A glance up at his monitor reveals his heartbeat on the screen, the little mountain-shaped blips coming farther and farther apart. The number next to them says 18.

 

He feels like he's being pulled back into a tunnel, his vision's narrowing and everyone else's voices sound like he's inside a cave or something, everything's muffled.

 

"I think –" he mumbles, vision closing quickly. "Gonna – pass out –"

 

He sees Monique's face and hands hovering over him, sees her mouth moving – "It's okay," he thinks she says – and then the world closes up entirely.

 

* * *

 

"Okay, soloists," Blaine says when they've run through the song twice. "I want you up here at the front, please. Biggest thing we need to work on – _vowels_. I want them long, I want them beautiful. Remember what we talked about, lifting our soft palates when we sing?"

 

Fern, Maya and Andre make their way to the front of the room and stand with him at the piano.

 

"Okay, Fern, you're up first. E _looooon_ gate those vowels," he emphasizes, drawing his hand out as he says it.

 

His phone buzzes in his pocket as Trina plays the notes with them, and he pulls it out far enough to see that it's not a text, but a phone call. From the hospital.

 

He quietly answers it as Fern's singing, and almost wishes he hasn't.

 

"Blaine? This is Monique, Kurt's nurse."

 

He hears Maya's voice falter on the second part of the solo as he plops down into a nearby desk.

 

"What happened?" he asks, doesn't even care that his entire class of forty 6th and 7th graders are now crowding around him. "Why – is he –" He can't even get the words out.

 

"You know we turned his pacer off today," she tells him. "He had another bout of bradycardia and a-fib, so it's back on. He's fine now."

 

"Did he – did you –"

 

"He passed out for just a second," she says. "And I literally mean seconds, he just blacked out and once the pacer was back on, everything was fine, he came to, he's talking right now, worried about you." She laughs. "He's actually yelling at me from his room, if you're wondering, asking if this is you on the phone."

 

Blaine's hands are shaking; his whole body feels like one big tremor. "So – what does this mean?"

 

"I'm gonna let you talk to the doctor," she says, and Blaine's own heart nearly stops, because he doesn't know much about medicine, but he _does_ know that if it's something a nurse can't tell you, it's probably not good.

 

"Mr. Hummel?" It's not Dr. Gomez's friendly, accented voice, but someone else's, and it makes Blaine tense up. He may as well change his name from Anderson after this week; he's been Mr. Hummel ever since they set foot in that hospital. And he really can't find it in him to mind. "This is Dr. Weaver speaking, I'm covering for Dr. Gomez today."

 

"Please tell me what's going on," Blaine begs, and nearly cries again when Fern's tentative hand comes out to pat his arm once, twice, and then she shyly withdraws it. That's all it takes for Trina to step into action, ordering the kids back into their seats, ushering Blaine out the door while he tries to listen to what the doctor's telling him.

 

"Well, you know about the myocarditis and the AV Block, correct?"

 

"Yeah …"

 

"It seems that your husband's heart hasn't healed yet. Whether it will eventually or not, only time will tell. Obviously he can't stay on a pacer in ICU until we find out, so we'll be inserting a permanent pacemaker today."

 

"That's –" Blaine leans against the wall with a _thunk_. "It's surgery, isn't it?"

 

"It is," the doctor says, "but we won't be putting him to sleep. He'll get a sedative to help him relax and we'll numb the area before we insert it."

 

"You're – you can get to his heart without putting him to sleep?"

 

"Oh, we don't have to get to his heart, Mr. Hummel," the doctor says. "It's just like the one he has now, with a wire that threads through a major vessel _into_ his heart. The actual pacer part is smaller, though, and will be implanted just below his collarbone."

 

The thought of them _implanting_ something into Kurt's body while he's still awake – he's not sure which he's afraid of more, that or anesthesia.

 

"I – this will fix him? He gets the pacemaker, he can come home?"

 

"Well, we'll have to make sure the settings are right, so it won't be an immediate discharge, but yes, if there are no complications, he shouldn't be here too much longer."

 

"Okay." He was beginning to think Kurt would be in the hospital forever, would _never_ get out of that awful ICU room. The thought of home is the only thing that could possibly keep him sane right now…

 

His phone beeps in his ear. It's another call. He's talking to the doctor, he should ignore it, but damn manners – He looks. It's Kurt. He almost laughs out loud.

 

Dr. Weaver's saying something about the timeline, but he interrupts. "I'm sorry, Dr. Weaver," he says, trying to keep the smile out of his voice – how can he be _smiling_ right now, (Kurt's alive, Kurt's okay, Kurt's still here) – "but your patient is actually calling me on the other line."

 

"My –" the doctor stutters, and Blaine can imagine him look up, towards Kurt's room, can practically _see_ the look Kurt's giving him. "Oh. Well, alright. You don't have any questions, Mr. Hummel?"

 

"I'll ask them later," he murmurs, and ends the call. Kurt's waiting for him.

 

* * *

 

"I'm so sorry, Blaine, I wanted to call you before they did," Kurt blurts out when Blaine finally answers the phone. "I know you're worried, but I'm fine, okay? They're going to fix everything, I'm going to be fine, please, please don't get hit by a taxi."

 

"Kurt, I – what?"

 

"Before I blacked out," Kurt explains, playing with the hem of his godawful hospital blanket – what's the point of them anyway, they aren't soft _or_ warm – "I had this vision of you running out of your school into oncoming traffic in your state of panic and being hit by a taxi."

 

"We could be roommates. Is there room for another bed in there?"

 

" _Not_ funny."

 

"No, I guess it's not." Blaine sighs. "That phone call scared the shit out of me, Kurt."

 

"I know, I _know_ it did," Kurt tells him. "It was pretty scary, having it happen, too."

 

"I know, baby. I'm leaving school as soon as I can –"

 

"You don't have to," Kurt interrupts. "Seriously, they're not putting the pacemaker in until later. I ate part of a danish this morning, and apparently eating's a no-no when you're having _any_ kind of surgery, even if they don't put you to sleep for it. I have to wait another four hours, and _you_ have time to finish school and get here."

 

"But Kurt –"

 

" _Blaine_. I'm fine."

 

"But _I'm_ not," comes Blaine's quiet reply, and Kurt immediately feels a wave of guilt wash over him. Blaine's job requires control, confidence, no distractions – who is he to tell his husband he has to stay at work when, if their situation was reversed, there's no way in hell Kurt would be leaving Blaine's bedside?

 

"Oh, honey," Kurt says gently. "I'm sorry – I didn't think –"

 

"No, it's fine," Blaine says. "Just – don’t expect me not to be there, okay? Please. If you're okay, if you're not, I just – you're _sick_ , you're in the _hospital_ , and I'm going to take care of you. Please don't ask me not to."

 

"I won't. I'm sorry," Kurt tells him. "Come as soon as you want to – maybe you can distract me from not being able to eat anything _again_."

 

"You must be so hungry …"

 

"Mmm, well, I'll manage I guess, won't I?"


	4. Chapter 4

When they wheel Kurt off to have his pacer inserted, Blaine finds himself alone again, and it's not long before he's sure he's losing his mind. It's been a hell of a week, nightmare after nightmare, his entire world turned on its head. He misses his children, he misses having a second half to help juggle their crazy life, he misses normalcy. The sounds of their coffee pot starting up before he gets up in the morning. Rubbing Kurt's feet on the couch while they watch trashy TV. Monday night dinner – they'd missed it for the first time in _years_ the night before. Helping the kids water the tomato plant they're trying to grow on the patio. (It's probably dead, now that he thinks about it, just like his husband almost was. _God, Blaine, stop thinking that. Kurt's fine. He's fine_.)

 

He's about to rip the magazine lying on Kurt's bedside table beside him to shreds if nothing but to have something to do with his hands, when he hears his name.

 

Rachel's standing in the doorway of Kurt's room, a compassionate smile on her face and a plate of cookies in her hands.

 

"Don't worry, James made them," she smiles with a little shake of her head, then strides forward, setting the cookies down and pulling him into the tightest of hugs. "We missed you _so_ much last night, and when I got a call from Carole today … I just couldn't stay away. I thought you could use some company?"

 

Blaine can't find words to say anything, so he stands there, lets her take a decent bit of his weight onto her tiny body as he leans against her.

 

"I know it's been the _worst_ week," she says. "Believe me, it's been awful for me too, and I'm not even married to him."

 

Blaine laughs drily. "But you _practically_ are. Without the sex of course. I mean, you've known him longer, you were friends before I ever even met Kurt …"

 

"Mmm, fr _enemies_ , maybe. But regardless of whatever platonic romance we may or may not have, I worry about him. I worry about you. So let's sit down, eat this plate of delicious chocolate turtle cookies my husband very graciously made for you because I may have hinted at the fact that you would probably need to stress eat at some point during this ordeal, and you can vent."

 

He smiles at her, lets go, plops down on his makeshift bed. "I'm vented out, I think? I've talked to Burt, I've talked to Kurt, I just – I'm ready for life to be back to normal." He sighs and takes a cookie off the plate she holds out for him. " _God_ , this is good," he says around a mouthful. "But you know, I'm really kind of scared about what it's going to be like _after_."

 

"After what?" she asks, taking a bite of her own cookie.

 

"After he comes home. After this is all over. Will it ever feel normal again? Will I ever be able to _stop_ walking around on eggshells around him? Will I ever not hear his monitor beeping in my head?"

 

"Oh, sweetie," she sighs, reaches out to take his hand. "It'll take time, but you will eventually."

 

"I don't know," he says, grabbing a second cookie, and yeah, Rachel was definitely right about the stress eating. "One would think a near-death experience would change things."

 

"I don't think it has to, though," she tells him. "I mean, it was _near_ -death, not actual death, thank goodness, and the doctors are doing what they need to make him better. You guys are going to be fine."

 

"But what if he can't work? Can you imagine Kurt cooped up at home all day long, no performances, no singing, no nothing?" He takes a huge bite of cookie, half of it shoved in his mouth at once, and mumbles something he knows Rachel can't understand.

 

"What?"

 

"We'd go crazy, both of us," he says, swallowing. "We'd like, get divorced or something and then there would be a huge, nasty custody battle over the kids and I just don't know if I could handle that and then _I'd_ have the heart attack and –"

 

"Whoa, whoa," Rachel says, running her hand down his arm soothingly. "Slow down. How much of any of that do you think is _actually_ going to hapen?"

 

He doesn't say anything, eats the rest of the cookie.

 

"Listen," she tells him, still rubbing his arm, "your husband, who you've loved for the better part of twenty-five years, is having surgery and you can't be with him. I think you're freaking out over everything else so you don't freak out over that right now."

 

His face twists, tears stinging his eyes, and he takes another cookie.

 

"See? I knew these were a good idea," she says. "He's going to be _fine_. They're going to come get us in just a few minutes and tell us everything went perfectly, and then they'll bring him back and he'll be hilariously drunk off the sedatives and I'll create an entire YouTube channel just to embarrass him over it. Okay?"

 

The tears rebelliously spill over Blaine's eyelashes, down his cheeks, and he sniffles, trying not to inhale cookie crumbs at the same time.

 

Rachel's head tilts to one side and she opens her arms. "Come here."

 

He slides over, lets her hug him. "I feel so stupid, crying like this," he says, his words muffled by the soft knit of her shirt. "And I'm getting crumbs and snot on you."

 

"Blaine, honey, if I was afraid of crumbs and snot, I'd never have had Cora," she says, stroking his hair. "Tell me what you're thinking. Are you scared?"

 

He takes a breath. "Not of the surgery so much I don't think," he says, "but that they're having to do it? I – Rach, I _left_ him this morning. What if the pacer hadn't worked? And his heart – it's _damaged_ , that's what they told me on the phone earlier. I don't even know what to do with that …" He sighs. "I just hoped, so _much_ , that they'd turn it off and everything would be fine and we'd go home."

 

"I know," she sighs, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "I wanted that too, for both of you, and for the twins."

 

"I worry about them so much," Blaine admits. "This is a lot for seven-year-olds to go through, and I know I haven't been there for them like I've needed to be, but I can only be in so many places at once …"

 

"They'll be fine once Kurt gets home," Rachel assures him. "You know how resilient kids can be …"

 

"Yeah, but these are _my_ kids," he sighs. "I feel like I've let them down. And if I'm not letting them down, I'm letting Kurt down. And the entire time I'm letting my kids down at school."

 

She strokes his hair again. "You need to stop thinking about how many people you're letting down and start thinking about who you're taking care of, Blaine. If you don't think Kurt would be doing the exact same thing if you were in that hospital bed, you need to do some serious reevaluating. That's what people who love each other do. You made a commitment to him – I was there, remember? The sickness part you promised? That's what this is."

 

He nods. "I know. And I don't _want_ to be doing anything else, but –"

 

"No buts. You do what you need to do right now. It's not forever, and he'll do fine and get better and come home. And, because you also need humor in your life right now, I still maintain that Kurt on sedatives is going to be hilarious."

 

He has to admit, she's probably right about that, at least. "I just hope he doesn't wake up thinking he's been captured by a spy ring again …"

 

Rachel smiles, shakes her head. "Here. Have another cookie. I'm sure they'll be done any minute."

 

* * *

 

"Hey, baby," Blaine says, stroking his fingers down Kurt's confused face. "Are you feeling okay? Are you in any pain?"

 

Kurt blinks. "You're so _beautiful_."

 

Blaine feels Rachel punch him in the shoulder. "I _told_ you," she says. "Comic gold."

 

Blaine rolls his eyes. "I'm glad that you think it's so hilarious that my own husband thinks I'm attractive."

 

"No, you're _glowing_ ," Kurt slurs from the bed. "You're like … _radiant_. Are you an angel?"

 

"I could be," Blaine smiles softly, a familiar scene from an old favorite movie coming to mind. "I could be whatever you want. You just tell me what you want and I'll be that for you."

 

Kurt grins, lopsided and lazy, and points his free finger, poking it into Blaine's chest where he's hovering over the hospital bed. "You're dumb."

 

Rachel _squawks_ beside him, smacks them both on the arm, one after the other.

 

"I could be that," Blaine says softly, tears welling in his eyes as he bends to kiss his loopy husband.

 

"You are _ridiculous_!" Rachel's laughing, shaking her head next to them. "You _still_ quote the fucking _Notebook_ at each other? Oh my god, I am _leaving_ , you obviously need a moment, this is _not_ the YouTube dirt I was looking for …"

 

She's still laughing as she leaves, and Blaine grins a grin just as dopey as Kurt's as they look at each other, doe-eyed.

 

"Take me home," Kurt whines after a moment. "I miss our bed. I miss what we _do_ in our bed –"

 

Blaine, giggling, shushes him, planting his forefinger over Kurt's lips before he says something entirely embarrassing. "Not yet, sweetheart. They've got to make sure you'll be okay first, and then I _promise_ I'll take you home."

 

Kurt looks up at him, complete trust in eyes that keep drifting, like he can't quite hold his focus yet. "Well of course I'll be okay, silly. I'm with you."

 

* * *

 

Wednesday

Kurt wakes the next morning to Monique grinning down at him, taking his blood pressure, his left arm still strapped to his chest. He can't move it for another day, according to the doctors. So many rules…

 

"Big day today," she says. "I hear there are plans to take that IJ line out."

 

"You mean this thing?" he asks sleepily, fingering the tubes that have stuck out of his neck for the better part of a week. "Have at it."

 

She laughs. "Not quite yet," she tells him, "the doctor has to do that part. But you do get breakfast this morning, and I was going to see if you had any particular requests other than the normal breakfast tray."

 

"Coffee, French Press," he groans, scooting up in the bed, and _ow_ , he's sore. He looks down at the dressing on his upper left chest.

 

"Pain score?"

 

"Mmm, not anything bad enough to warrant more than an Advil or something," he says. "Maybe a two? A three?"

 

"I can bring you some Motrin in just a minute," she says. "And as for the coffee – you might want to stick to decaf from now on. Caffeine can contribute to your atrial fib …"

 

" _Please_ tell me you're joking."

 

"I'm afraid not," she tells him. "Let me go see about that Motrin, and I bet if you ask nicely, your sleepyhead husband will go get you a cup of something that won't send your heart racing again, hmm?"

 

Blaine stirs on the couch at the mention of 'husband.' "What? What do you need?" he asks, popping up into a sitting position, rubbing his eyes, then his neck.

 

"Something _decaf_ ," Kurt says grumpily. "Oh god, I'm going to die."

 

Blaine shakes his head like a puppy, trying to wake up. "'S okay," he says, rubbing his eyes again and yawning. "We'll give it up together. It'll be great …" His head lolls on his neck as he rests heavy against the couch.

 

"Yeah, great plan, honey," Kurt says drily. He turns to Monique. "We're going to _die_."

 

"You'll manage," she says. "I had to give it up, too, same reason. These early shifts are killer without it, but you learn to manage. I'll warn you, though, you'll have a splitting headache for the next two weeks."

 

"Fantastic. Have any more good news for me this morning?"

 

"Food. No more line. Your kids can visit. All _actual_ good news," she says with a smile. "I'll be back in just a few minutes."

 

* * *

 

" _Papa_!" Grayson and Madison shriek and bounce into Kurt's hospital room that afternoon.

 

"Hey guys," Kurt grins, sitting up in the chair again. "How was school?"

 

" _Boring_ ," Madison tells him. "I wish Nana and Pop-Pop would let us stay home from school and come visit you instead."

 

Kurt shakes his head. "No-can-do, Mads. School is important."

 

"Not more important than _you_ ," Grayson argues. "We miss you, Papa."

 

"Well, you won't for too much longer," Kurt grins, "because they told me I could probably come home _tomorrow_! What do you guys think of that?"

 

" _Yaaaay_!" the twins squeal loudly, running to hug around Kurt's legs.

 

He feels stronger today. Surely the food is helping, and they've let him "ambulate in the hall" as they weirdly put it earlier, no wires attached to him save the portable heart monitor Burt carried for him. He was shaky, felt like he was walking around on bird's legs, every movement had _killed_ his ribs, but he was _walking_ which was definitely better than being bedbound.

 

He's getting antsy, though, now that he's feeling better – five days in the same bed with the same surroundings and the same people, and he's ready for home.

 

"Yay is right," he tells them, bending to wrap his free arm around his kids and gasping as his stitches pull a little in his chest.

 

"Papa? Are you okay?" Madison asks, her eyes growing wide.

 

"Oh, I'm fine, sweetie," he says. "It's just – I'm gonna have a really awesome scar on my chest, but it hasn't healed yet and it kind of hurts when I move."

 

"Did you break your arm?" Mads asks again.

 

"No, honey, they just don't want me to move my arm yet. This sling will be long gone tomorrow."

 

Grayson reaches his arm up and points to the bandage over Kurt's collarbone, half-hidden by the sling they've got him in. "That looks like an awfully big cut, Papa," he says. "Bigger than the one when I fell and scraped my knee that time."

 

"Mmm, maybe," Kurt says. "That was a pretty big cut you had, too."

 

"Is yours too big for a Band-Aid?" Madison asks. "Is that why there's that white stuff on top of it?"

 

"Yep," he tells them, "but it doesn't _hurt_ like I bet your knee did. Just when I move, mostly."

 

"Can I kiss it and make it better, Papa?" Mads asks, reaching up to stroke over it.

 

"Sure, sweetheart. Blaine?" he says. "Will you put her in my lap?"

 

Blaine complies and plops her on Kurt's knees, and she bends forward to kiss the bandage that rests just above the neck of his hospital gown.

 

"I hope it feels better _really_ soon," she says sweetly, and he kisses her on the cheek.

 

"Thanks, baby," he tells her. "Now, I want to hear all about school today."

 

* * *

 

Thursday

Kurt's a little disappointed that the nurses' shifts have changed, so that the ones who've taken care of him all week don't get to send him home. He said his heartfelt thank yous and goodbyes the night before, with promises to come back and visit once he's in tip-top shape again.

 

Blaine rolls him out of the hospital in a wheelchair in spite of his insistence on his ability to walk just fine, thank-you-very-much, and he creeps into the taxi Blaine has waiting for them at the curb.

 

"The kids were so happy you were coming home," Blaine tells him as they're driving off, "that they got with Cora last night and practiced a play to perform for you after school. I warned them that you might not be feeling up to company, but –"

 

"After everything that Rachel and James have done for us," Kurt tells him, "I would be _remiss_ not to invite them over. Of course I'd love to see a play tonight. Just don't invite the whole neighborhood, okay?"

 

Blaine grins brightly. "Good. It'll be hilarious – they've awarded all the grown-ups a part except for you, and that's because you're the 'guest of honor,' Mads told me."

 

" _Well_ , don't I feel special?" Kurt says. "And what part will you be playing?"

 

"Nope," Blaine says. "My lips are sealed – I'm sworn to secrecy. It's supposed to be a surprise."

"Okay, then," Kurt grins. "I look forward to witnessing your children's theater debut."

 

"It is definitely not something to be missed," Blaine says, smiling, looking just for a moment more relaxed than he has all week. And what a week it's been – it doesn't _feel_ like he's stared death in the face and walked away, but that's what's happened, and he thinks Blaine knows it a little better than he does. He's tried to be gentle – it's true, Kurt's the one who had surgery, but Blaine's the more fragile of the two of them right now. He can't imagine doing CPR on Blaine, breathing air into his lungs, breaking his ribs, can't bear to think what that would do to a person.

 

He squeezes Blaine's hand over the middle seat of the taxi. There are so many ways in which he owes his life to this man. Blaine squeezes back, then rests his head on the window of the taxi. Kurt immediately opens his mouth to tell him to sit back up because _germs, Blaine_ , but right before the words come out he stops them. Blaine's eyes slip shut right in front of him, and Kurt wonders whether he's just that tired, or if he's pretending that they're just sharing a normal taxi ride on a normal day and none of this ever happened.

 

Either way, he stays quiet, stretches Blaine's arm out a bit more so he can press a kiss to his knuckles.

 

Traffic's horrendous, worse than normal, complete with two near-death experiences that have Blaine gasping out of his reverie on the window, throwing his arm in front of Kurt to hold him in the seat. Heroic as it is, said arm unfortunately manages to brush not so gently over his incision both times, and Kurt's collarbone is throbbing by the time they're home.

 

The trek up the stairs to their brownstone is hell and leaves Kurt winded by the time they reach their door. Exhausted, he slumps heavily against the frame.

 

"Kurt, baby," Blaine says, and it sounds like he's trying _not_ to sound like nerves are fraying in his throat as he speaks, "your heart – are you okay?"

 

"It's not my heart," he says, trying to smile a reassuring smile. "My heart's fine – I'll even let you feel my pulse. It's – I'm just _tired_. But, it's a weird tired, like I've got bricks in my shoes and on my back and on my head, just weighing me down. I don't know how else to explain it."

 

"The nurses said it would take a while for you to bounce back," Blaine reminds him, unlocking the door. "I don't want you pushing too hard while you do it, either. Lots of naps, and no cooking or cleaning, okay? That's what I'm here for."

 

Kurt smiles. "I know," he says, and he _does_ know; if there's nothing else in this world he knows, it's that Blaine will take care of him, will take care of the kids. He might worry about a lot of things, but that's not one of them.

 

He stumbles inside and it's spotless. Carole and all her nervous energy must've needed something to do when she was too much of a mess to be at the hospital; the counters are sparkling, there's no collection of dust to be found, and more amazingly, no evidence that two messy seven-year-olds live there too.

 

She's waiting for them, wringing her hands on the couch, and pops up like she's wearing springs when she sees him. "Oh, sweetie," she frets, petting over his hair. "How are you feeling? Burt's packing up – I'm so sorry we can't stay longer."

 

Kurt smiles, pecks a kiss onto her temple. "You got us through the worst of it," he says. "I can't ask for much else."

 

"You look exhausted, kid."

 

Kurt looks up, sees his dad in the doorway, hands on his hips. It strikes him how much older he looks sometimes – not _old_ , his dad isn't allowed to get _old_ , but there's something in his face …

 

Kurt's not thinking about that today. "I'm a little tired, yeah," he says.

 

He lets Blaine guide him to the couch, his touch gentle, lets him fuss over the pillows and the throw, too tired to do anything else.

 

"We'll tell you goodbye now," Carole says softly. "I don't want to wake you if you're still asleep when we leave."

 

Kurt wants to protest; he really does, but now that he's horizontal again, sleep is at his heels and there's no stopping it.

 

" _Thank you_ ," he says, emphasizing each syllable. "I don't know what we would've done –"

 

Her eyes are watery as she sits, the couch cushions sinking underneath them. "I'm sorry I couldn't be there all the time."

 

"Carole –" he starts, then smiles sadly. " _Mom_." He takes her hand, and one of her tears falls on his finger. "I understand. I'm sorry I scared you the other day."

 

She bends, hugs him, he feels her breathing slow and deep into his unaffected shoulder.

 

"It's okay," he murmurs, and _no_ , he can't fall asleep yet. "I'm still here. I'm not going anywhere."

 

He's awake long enough to see Burt pull her up, wrap his arms around her, long enough to feel Blaine's hand squeezing his foot affectionately, and he's drifting off into the heavy sleep he's been succumbing to all week.

 

* * *

 

That evening, after he's woken and taken a clumsy shower – "Yes, I know I just had a shower this morning, but have you ever taken a shower in a hospital, Blaine? It's _not the same_ " – Rachel, James and Cora arrive.

 

The twins run squealing to the door, thrilled for the company, still giddy with their Papa being home at long last, and drag Cora back down the hall, an enormous bag in tow, to work on "costume design."

 

"It's good to see you," James smiles, towering over Kurt as he gives him the gentlest of hugs. "We were all worried."

 

"Thanks," Kurt says. "I don't know what we would've done if you guys hadn't helped with the twins …"

 

Rachel smiles. "We're family," she says, as if that's all there is to it, as if something can be so simple. Kurt's thankful that, sometimes, it can.

 

They shuffle to the living room again, pile on the couch that's sure to become Kurt's permanent home over the next week or two while he convalesces.

 

"God, this reminds me of when the two of you first started dating," he says suddenly, the nostalgia washing over him as Rachel somehow manages to lean into both his side and James's. "Do you remember movie nights?"

 

"After Monday night dinner," Rachel says fondly. "God, I'd go home and then call you and talk for _hours_ about how in love I was."

 

"And I would bitch to Blaine after because you never let me go until one or two in the morning," Kurt says back.

 

James smiles his easy smile beside her, and Blaine reaches out, far as his arm can reach, to punch him in the shoulder across Kurt and Rachel. "Ladies' man," he says, waggling his eyebrows.

 

"Always."

 

" _Daddy_!" comes Madison's voice from down the hall. " _We need help_!"

 

Blaine grins. "I've been summoned," he says. "No idea how long this will take …"

 

Kurt smacks him happily on the ass as he gets up.

 

"Happy to be home?" James asks.

 

"You have no idea," Kurt says. "Of all the things a person can do for five days at a time, I would _not_ recommend spending them in an ICU."

 

Rachel sighs, plants her face into his arm. "I'm so glad you're okay," she says, her voice coming out muffled.

 

"Mmm, me too," Kurt says, leaning his head into hers. "I have an awful lot I'd be missing out on if I weren't. Like this sure-to-be-fabulous play I keep hearing about…"

 

"Ground rules," James says very seriously, turning to him. "One – what happens in the play, stays in the play. Two – you cannot post pictures on social media. Three – none of the people in my company hear about this."

 

Kurt's eyes light up. "Exactly _what_ are you doing, James? What have my children coerced you into playing?"

 

He sighs. "They're very convincing. You were in the hospital. Madison cried."

 

" _Tell me, tell me, tell me_!" he squeals like a child, clapping his hands.

 

"Oh, you'll see soon enough."

 

" _James? Rach?_ " they hear Blaine call from down the hall. " _We need you for rehearsals please_!"

 

Kurt smiles, delighted. He's tired, but oh, this will be worth every minute; he'll prop his eyes open with toothpicks if he has to.

 

"And on that note," he says, "I'll be making myself scarce in our bedroom."

 

He winces a little as he gets up, the stitches still _pull_ when he moves, but he shakes his head when both James and Rachel offer a hand to him. "I'm okay," he promises. "Just a little sore. I'll have my earbuds in, just tell Blaine to come get me when you guys are ready."

 

* * *

 

The play is _glorious_.

 

It _hurts_ him, laughing, but he can't help it, cracked ribs and all, Kurt's cackling into a pillow.

 

Rachel and Blaine are hiding in the kitchen for now, having played a fabulous Mr. and Mrs. Darling, and Grayson's outdone himself – he's managed to be both Michael and John at the same time, even sword-fighting with himself.

 

But now his boy is pretending to sleep, Madison in a blue dress next to him, while James crawls on the ground on all fours, a makeshift dog mask balanced precariously on his head. He's attempting to cover the children with a blanket clutched between his teeth.

 

Kurt snickers, and James shoots him a look that clearly threatens murder if he speaks of it outside this living room.

 

Cora enters from the kitchen, a green cap pinned jauntily into her wild hair, and tall and lanky she makes the perfect Peter. Normally shy, her bashfulness fades into the distance as the character comes out.

 

She's carrying a bell, and jingles it beside her. "Tink! Tink, be quiet – I'm trying to find my shadow! I know it's in here somewhere …" She sneaks into the Darlings' "bedroom" through the "window," pretends to open a drawer in their coffee table. " _There_ it is!" she cries, banging her hands triumphantly on the top of it.

 

Kurt's little Wendy starts awake. "Peter! Oh, Peter, I knew you'd come back! I've been saving your shadow for you! Come here, let me sew it on."

 

Peter stands still, defiant fists pressed into her hips, while Wendy bends to sew the shadow to Peter's shoes.

 

"I have to grow up tomorrow, you know," Wendy says sadly.

 

"Grow _up_! Ha, what a silly thing to have to do!"

 

"Yes, but father says –"

 

"Come with me!" Peter interrupts. "Wake up Michael and John and come with me to Never Land!"

 

"Never Land!" Grayson – Kurt's not sure if he's supposed to be John or Michael at that point – jumps up from under the blanket to his feet. "Pirates! Indians! I want to go!"

 

The look on James's face as he crawls over, folds the blanket back up with his teeth, is _priceless_ , but Kurt's trying not to laugh – the kids are perfect, _beautiful_ really, and he'd never want them to think he was laughing at them.

 

"But – how do we get there?" Wendy asks.

 

"We fly, of course," Peter says, and rings the bell again. "Come on Tink, do your thing – pixie dust for everyone!"

 

"Pixie dust?"

 

"Pixie dust and happy thoughts," Peter says. And, coming from the kitchen, Kurt hears it and _oh_ , it can't get any better than this.

 

" _Think of a wonderful thought,_ " comes Blaine's voice.

 

" _Any happy little thought_ ," Rachel echoes.

 

" _Think of Christmas, think of snow, think of sleigh bells off you go, like reindeer in the sky …_ "

 

They swoop in, grab Madison and Grayson and lift them into the air, twirling them around, " _You can fly, you can fly, you can fly_!"

 

* * *

 

"I'll fight you man-to-man with a hand tied around my back!" Peter cries, a grin slipping out as Cora faces her father with a sword in her hand. James is wearing a pirate hat now, and a red coat that he _had_ to have stolen from his company's costume department.

 

"You mean you won't fly?"

 

"I won't fly," Peter says very seriously.

 

The fight begins, swords thunking against each other until Peter's got the Captain pinned against the wall with the tip of a sword to his chest.

 

"Say you're a _codfish_ ," Peter says haughtily.

 

The Captain sighs and looks up to the ceiling helplessly. "I'm a codfish," he says, resigned.

 

"Ha!" Peter cries, and turns around. Captain Hook lunges with his sword, but loses his balance and falls over into the "water" right next to Grayson's stuffed crocodile.

 

"Smee!" Captain Hook cries, and Rachel, in a striped blue shirt and red beanie, runs to the rail of their "ship."

 

"Oh, Captain! Swim for your life!"

 

"That'll be the last of him, then," Peter says smugly, and the bell tinkles again. "What was that, Tink? Oh, good idea!" The bell tinkles faster. "Tonight, we sail!"

 

"Peter?" Wendy asks, approaching him. "Where are we sailing?"

 

"To London, of course! You there!" Peter cries, pointing to Blaine, on his knees in a pair of summer shorts and a t-shirt, facepaint streaked across his cheeks and a headband circling around his forehead – he's the cutest Lost Boy Kurt's ever seen – "hoist the anchor!"

 

Blaine shuffles over, still on his knees, to the edge of the rail and hoists an imaginary anchor over the side. "Aye-aye, Captain Pan!" he says, giving a jolly salute.

 

"Okay, Tink, we're ready. Think happy thoughts, everyone!"

 

* * *

 

"Mother!" Wendy cries, running into Mrs. Darling's arms. She tugs Rachel down, whispers in her ear.

 

"Oh!" Rachel says, pulling the red beanie she'd forgotten to remove earlier off her head. "Right. Now, darling, what is it?"

 

"Mother, we're back, and I'm ready to grow up now."

 

"Now, darling, what I said earlier –" Mr. Darling says, remnants of paint still streaked on Blaine's face, and Kurt tries not to snicker.

 

"No, Father, I am, I'm ready – but the Lost Boys weren't, that's why they went back home with Peter."

 

Mr. and Mrs. Darling's faces grow confused. "With – whom?" Mr. Darling asks.

 

"Peter Pan, of course," Wendy says, sighing and resting her chin on her hand. "Oh, Never Land was _wonderful_ , but I was ready to come home."

 

"Yes, well – that's nice, darling," Mr. Darling says, and bends to kiss the top of her head. "I think I'll go to bed now."

 

"No, Father, look!" Wendy cries. "The ship! See how he flies it!"

 

She points in the air and Mr. and Mrs. Darling look up to the sky. "Oh, George …" Mrs. Darling says.

 

He stands, blinking up at it, then shakes his head. "Yes. Well. Sweet dreams darling." He walks off, and Mrs. Darling takes her hand and leads her back toward the bed, where Nana is waiting to tuck her in.

 

" _And when our journey is through, each time we say goodnight_ ," comes Blaine's clear voice, piercing from the kitchen as Nana drags the blanket up once more with a human set of teeth, " _we'll thank the little star that shines, the second from the right_."

 

Kurt stands to his feet, and claps his hands, a jolt of pain running down his arm with it, but he barely notices. "I do believe in fairies," he says, tears brimming in his eyes. "I do, I do."

 

"Yes, well, we thought about doing the stage version," James says, still in his Nana costume as they take their bows, "but the kids knew the movie better, so …"

 

Kurt carefully gets to his knees, holds his arms out for his children. Madison and Grayson and even Cora envelope him and no amount of throbbing on his incision or in his ribs could hold him back from them. "It was perfect," he says, kissing all of their cheeks. "Gray, playing _two_ characters, and my sweet Wendy, and _you_ ," he tells Cora, " _you_ made the _perfect_ Peter. Thank you so, so much." Cora flushes crimson, ducks her head into Kurt's shoulder and giggles.

 

Grayson beams. "Did that make you feel better, Papa?"

 

"If my heart wasn't all the way better before," he says, very seriously, "it is now. That was _wonderful_."

 

Three more kisses, and he stands. "And _you guys_ ," he starts, but James holds up a hand.

 

"We know. Perfection. I should get a Tony."

 

Rachel comes up, hugs him, still in her Mrs. Darling costume sans Smee's red beanie. "It was all their idea," she says. "They even told us who we were going to play. Didn't Blaine make the sweetest Lost Boy?"

 

"I won't grow up!" Blaine cries, and Kurt gives him a dry smile.

 

"Yes, honey. We all know."

 

Rachel laughs, kisses Kurt on the cheek, then holds her arms out to Cora.

 

"You were amazing, my love. Now, let's go home and get to bed ourselves – Kurt must be tired after all that excitement."

 

"Next time, _I_ want to be in the play, too," he says, yawning. "Thanks again, guys."

 

Hugs all around, and Kurt's left with his husband and kids. "Wanna help me tuck Papa into bed?" Blaine says. "Then we'll get baths and get our teeth brushed, okay?"

 

It's so different, being taken care of by your family than a bunch of nurses. With family, there are hugs and kisses rather than needles and blood pressures, a hand stroking through your hair rather than prodding at your belly.

 

Kurt's been in lounge clothes all day – there's nothing like five days in a hospital gown to make a person really not care what they look like – and he's tired, so it's not hard for Blaine to convince him that he can change in the morning. In no time, he's gone through a very slimmed down nightly routine: teeth brushed, face washed, into bed for cuddles.

 

He falls asleep with Blaine's fingers in his hair, flanked on both sides by his twins, his own hand resting heavy on Grayson's head.

 

* * *

 

Sunday

Two more days of recovery under his belt, and Kurt's beginning to feel a little better. Unfortunately, he feels well enough now that he's bored, most of the exhaustion seeped from his body after lots of rest. It's not like he can do much more than that anyway because the pain _hasn't_ done much seeping away.

 

"Blaine, honey," Kurt says after walking gingerly into the kitchen, "I appreciate your help – I really, _really_ do, and I know I'm still moving slow, but I _am_ perfectly capable of making my own bowl of cereal."

 

Blaine goes quiet; the song he was humming dies down. "I'm sorry," he says evenly. He holds the milk out and Kurt takes it, then heaves it onto the counter with a gasp. " _Fuck_ ," he hisses, leaning hard against the fridge.

 

"Kurt, oh my god –" Blaine says, rushing over to him. He grasps hold of his shoulders. "Look at me."

 

Kurt manages to open his eyes, trying to breathe through the pain.

 

"I should never have given that to you, it's a full gallon, I should've known …"

 

"Not your fault," Kurt grunts. "Just – _shit_ that hurt – it's just a fucking gallon of milk – "

 

"Papa?" He looks up to see a sleepy Grayson padding in, rubbing his eyes, and great, he's cussing like a sailor in front of his kids now. "You and Daddy makin' cereal?"

 

"We are, bud – you want a bowl, too?"

 

"Please," his little boy says. "Can I go turn on cartoons?"

 

"That's a great idea," Blaine says, still looking worriedly at Kurt. "Why don’t you and Papa both go sit down on the couch together and watch? I'll bring cereal in in a minute."

 

"I swear I'm fine, Blaine –" Kurt starts, but the look Blaine gives him shuts him right up. It makes him cranky to admit defeat to breakfast, but Kurt follows Grayson into the living room, turns on Scooby Doo.

 

Once Blaine's finished pouring cereal and washing some grapes for the kids, Madison's up and on the couch with Kurt, she and Grayson tucked under each of his arms. Blaine scoots in beside Madison, and the four of them munch away at their cereal while they watch the gang solve yet another mystery.

 

After breakfast, Kurt sends the kids off to color while he carefully helps Blaine unload the dishwasher from the night before. Blaine's limited him to the top rack, where none of the heavy dishes are, and he's trying not to be resentful – he _knows_ it'll just hurt more if he tries to lift the casserole dish out.

 

"Please," Blaine says as Kurt gingerly lifts coffee mugs from the top rack, "try not to do anything too strenuous. It's already been a long week – we don't need anything else on top of everything that's already happened."

 

"That it has," Kurt says mildly. "My apologies."

 

Blaine looks up, his eyes pained. " _Kurt_ –"

 

He didn't mean for it to come out like _that_ , and regrets it immediately. "I'm sorry," he says. "I'm cranky and sore and bored to death already and practically an invalid – I don't mean to be such terrible company."

 

"I'm just glad you're around to _be_ company, terrible or not," Blaine says, giving him a wan smile. "I'll do all the chores forever as long as it means you're here."

 

Kurt sighs. "That's not fair to you."

 

"Well, it would be less fair if I'd lost my husband, so sit back and be quiet, you. Once you're better, I'll make you do double the work to make up for all of it."

 

" _That_ sounds fair," Kurt says. "I'll be taking you up on it, too."

 

"Deal.

 

* * *

 

"Hey. That's a funny place to take a nap."

 

Kurt opens his eyes as Blaine playfully nudges Kurt's foot with his bare toes. "I was meditating," he says. "I thought the breathing exercises might help my ribs."

 

"How's that going?"

 

"Not great? I think it was wishful thinking on my part." Kurt grunts as Blaine helps him sit up, pain shooting through his side.

 

Blaine frowns. "Are you okay?"

 

Kurt shrugs. "It's going to hurt, I guess. Try not to worry so much, okay? I'll be fine. You have to trust."

 

"No offense, baby, but that's kind of a tall order to ask of me right now," Blaine says, pressing a kiss into Kurt's cheek as he gently helps him stand to his feet. "You can tell me not to worry all you want, but I'm afraid it's just not gonna happen."

 

Kurt sighs. "I know."

 

"I'm gonna start on dinner – you want to read with the kids? Mads was talking about getting started back on Harry Potter soon."

 

"Yeah, I can do that," Kurt says as Blaine turns to walk to the kitchen. "Hey," he says, stopping him in his tracks. "I love you."

 

Blaine grins. "I love you, too."

 

* * *

 

Tuesday

Monday passes, and part of Tuesday, and Kurt's beginning to understand why it's _good_ for couples to work outside the home. He's not used to having Blaine with him all day, every day, and while it's helpful since he can barely reach his arms above his shoulders, it's also beginning to feel a bit suffocating.

 

He's sitting on the floor, contemplating all their books on the bottom bookshelf, bored with his Netflix queue already, when Blaine comes hovering over his shoulder. "Do you need help with something, baby?" he asks.

 

"No, I'm good," Kurt tells him. "Just getting a book."

 

"Oh – well let me know if it hurts you to bend like that," Blaine says. "I'm happy to get it for you. What do you want to read?"

 

"Really, Blaine, I can get it myself," Kurt says, trying not to sound testy. "It's not a bowling ball."

 

"I know that," Blaine says, sounding a little hurt. "I just thought –"

 

"You were trying to help. I know you were, honey. But this is _actually_ something I can do myself, so let me, please?"

 

Blaine acquiesces with a sigh. "Just – please tell me if you need help, okay? I know you said I need to trust, but – it's hard for me to trust you when you try to do things you can't, and you _know_ you can't."

 

"Blaine – okay," Kurt says, but he's prickling all over – he doesn't like being told when he can't do things; it just makes him want to prove everyone wrong. "I'll try."

 

"That's all I can ask for," Blaine says, smiling, and pecks a kiss on Kurt's cheek before flopping onto the couch with a book of his own.

 

* * *

 

Wednesday

" _God_ I'm tired of sitting around," Kurt grumbles as he and the kids eat breakfast.

 

" _Some_ body got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning," Madison says, taking a big bite of her waffle.

 

" _Mads_!" Blaine walks toward the table, a dishtowel in his hand. "Is that any way to talk to Papa?"

 

"Well it's _true_ ," she says, "he was grumpy last night and he's grumpy again this morning."

 

"Madison Olivia –"

 

"No, she's right," Kurt says, interrupting Blaine. "I'm in a pretty grumpy mood, I'm sorry, sweetie."

 

"That doesn't mean she gets to talk to you like that," Blaine snaps, striding back into the kitchen, mumbling something under his breath that Kurt only catches the tail end of.

 

" _What_ did you just say?" he demands, following Blaine, ribs aching as he gets up. "Did I _seriously_ hear you say 'what do I know, I'm just the cook?'"

 

Blaine closes his eyes, and Kurt can see the tension in his forehead. "I didn't mean that."

 

"Listen, I know it must be exhausting for you to do all this housework by yourself," Kurt says, "but don't forget that I have offered over and over and over to help with it and you've _refused_."

 

"Kurt –"

 

"Seriously, broken ribs or no, I think it's time for me to start helping more around here again."

 

"Kurt, no, it's fine, really, I was just – it was just a moment –"

 

"Let me do the damn dishes for you, Blaine," Kurt snaps, and they both whip around when a little voice catches their ears.

 

"Papa? Daddy?" Madison's standing there with tears welling in her eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you mad at each other –"

 

"Oh, baby, no," Blaine says, rushing to pick her up as all the blood drains from Kurt's head. They've got to stop this snipping at each other; it's a rule they've kept since they brought the twins home – no fighting in front of the kids.

 

"Mads, sweetheart, it wasn't your fault," Kurt explains to her as Blaine hugs tight around her little body. "Papa and Daddy aren't really even mad at each other – we're just tired, and like you said, I'm not in the best mood. I promise, it's okay."

 

"Okay," she mumbles, arms squeezing around Blaine's neck before he sets her down.

 

"Go back and sit with Gray and finish your waffle, okay?" Kurt tells her, kissing the top of her head. "Me and Daddy are gonna talk and make everything okay again."

 

She nods sadly, walks slowly back to the table, and Blaine drags a hand down his face as she goes.

 

"Did we really just have a fight over whether I'm doing housework or not?" Kurt asks drily.

 

"I'm pretty sure we did. And I'm pretty sure it made our daughter cry."

 

Kurt groans. "I'm so ready to get back to normal. This is really getting old – I don't even feel like myself."

 

"I know, Kurt," Blaine says. "But you've got to stop doing too much – you need time to heal, and you're not going to get any better if you just keep pushing yourself."

 

He's tired of hearing _that_ , too, but doesn't say so.

 

"Okay," he says, "truce? For the sake of our children?"

 

"Truce," Blaine agrees, kissing him on the cheek. "I'll even let you bring the kids' plates in here when they're done eating."

 

* * *

 

It's not that Blaine _tries_ to pick these fights.

 

He's in the laundry room, slowly moving clothes from the washer to the dryer, alone after Kurt accused him of treating him like a child, then storming out.

 

The thing is, though, Blaine _knows_ Kurt isn't a child. He _knows_ that, and that's not at all what this is about. This is about the fact that a week and a half ago, Blaine was breathing air into Kurt's lungs, Kurt's _lips_ were _blue_. A week and a half ago, Blaine broke Kurt's ribs. He'd promised never to hurt him, and he'd _had_ to, there wasn't any other choice, but he'd _hurt_ him and Kurt's still feeling the repercussions of that, will be for _weeks_ according to the doctors.

 

It's not an easy thing to wrap your head around, nearly losing your spouse. He's still shaken, he's still _terrified_ , really, that the pacemaker will malfunction or the settings are wrong or something will happen to steal his husband away forever. But he can't _say_ any of that because he's over-worrying and he knows it.

 

It's just, he's seen Kurt's face, the way he rubs his arm, moves it around uncomfortably whenever he uses it, he's seen Kurt stop in mid-sentence when he takes too big a breath. It's not just when he holds a full gallon of milk – even little things obviously affect him. There's no point in making him hurt _more_ when Blaine's home, when Blaine's perfectly capable of doing the chores.

 

He's just trying to help. Why does it have to make Kurt so angry?

 

* * *

 

That evening, Kurt's listening to Madison read while Blaine makes dinner – they're working on the Harry Potter book, and he figures there are worse ways to spend his time while Blaine hovers over the stove.

 

He's a bit uncomfortable, though, and not just because of his ribs. He and Blaine haven't had this much tension in years – they had more intimacy while Kurt was in the _hospital_ , if that's even possible. He wonders if it's a case of _too_ much time together, if they've just been in each other's space so much in the midst of a stressful situation, and a little time apart would be of use.

 

Madison finishes out the chapter they're on right as Blaine calls them for dinner, and Kurt takes as deep a breath as he can.

 

"So I was looking at the calendar, and it's less than three weeks until your spring concerts, honey," he says, biting into the bruschetta Blaine's made. At least the man knows how to cook, since he's not letting Kurt help with anything. "I know your kids are missing you, and I _know_ you're stressed about how everything's going without you. I was just thinking – do you think maybe tomorrow or Friday might be a good time to go back to work?"

 

Blaine raises his eyebrows. "I don't know, Kurt. Do _you_ think tomorrow is a good time for me to go back to work?"

 

"Blaine, _please_ ," Kurt says, closing his eyes. "Don't turn this into something it isn't."

 

"What _is_ it, then?"

 

"Daddy?" Grayson's voice pops Kurt's eyes back open. "Papa? Why are you fighting again?"

 

Blaine sighs heavily. "We're not fighting, buddy."

 

"You _sound_ like you're fighting," Madison says through a mouthful of bruschetta.

 

"Don't talk with your mouth full," comes Blaine's and Kurt's reply in perfect unison, and Kurt can't help but smile just a little.

 

She shrinks back in her chair, saying a muffled, "Sorry," and Blaine tugs his hand through his hair.

 

"All I'm saying," Blaine says evenly, "is it sounds like you want me out of here."

 

 _I kind of do_ , Kurt thinks, but shakes his head. "Look, I know you're worried. But you're almost out of time off, and I just –I swear, I won't do anything more strenuous than marathon old Top Model cycles, okay?"

 

Blaine manages a smile, and Kurt can tell he's only doing it because they're in front of the kids. "If I remember anything about Tyra," he says, "those cycles could get pretty strenuous."

 

Kurt tries to smile back. "I just feel like I'm keeping you from things you really need to do."

 

"You have to know you're always my priority," Blaine frowns. "The spring concert's important, but – Kurt, you –" he trails off. "Are you sure _you're_ ready?"

 

"I'll be fine," he promises. "I'm sore, but it's not like that will change for several more weeks, and you can't stay home just because I hurt."

 

Blaine's face says otherwise, but he shrugs. "I'll think about it. Hey Mads, why don't you catch me up on what Harry's doing, hmm?"


	5. Chapter 5

Thursday

Blaine's awake the next morning before his alarm rings, less than four hours of sleep under his belt, slipping out of bed smoothly enough that Kurt never even budges.

 

He showers quickly, heads to the kitchen where he was up late putting together little containers of meals for Kurt so he wouldn't have to worry about anything himself. There are bran muffins for breakfast waiting in the bread basket, there are containers of salad for lunches, there are single servings of the casserole he threw together for dinners. He's even put out a basket of snacks so Kurt won't have to reach up to get in the cabinets.

 

He takes the stack of Post-its off the fridge where it's magnetized and writes notes on them, sticks them in all the appropriate places.

 

He looks up when he hears Madison's sleepy voice.

 

"Daddy?" she says, rubbing her eyes, still wearing her nightgown. "We're not late for school, are we?"

 

"No, sweetheart," he whispers, shaking his head. "I'm just trying to get everything ready for Papa since I won't be home today. I'm going back to school today, too."

 

"Are you gonna walk us?"

 

"Yep. You can go back to sleep for a while, though – I'll come get you when it's time, okay?"

 

She blinks her eyes against the light, yawns, and nods. "Can I have a hug first, Daddy?"

 

He melts. There's nothing that can tear his walls down to their foundation like his kids can, and he crouches and holds his arms out open for her.

 

"I think Papa's gonna be okay," she says, her breath puffing out hot against his ear. "Pop-pop says he's a tough cookie. But I don't like my cookies to be tough. I like them soft and gooey."

 

Blaine chuckles. "It's a figure of speech, baby," he says. "It means Papa doesn't let the bad stuff win."

 

She pulls back from him, smiles a sleepy smile. "Then you're a tough cookie, too, Daddy. I love you."

 

He hugs her again, buries his face in her soft blonde hair. "I love you, too."

 

* * *

 

"Kurt? I hate to wake you …"

 

Kurt opens his eyes – how can heart palpitations have permanently turned his eyelids to lead? – and looks up at Blaine. He's dressed for school, green chinos paired with a pink button-down, hair moussed into perfection, but dark circles hover under his eyes where Kurt's not used to seeing them.

 

"You're working today?"

 

"That's what you wanted, right?" Blaine bends down to kiss Kurt's forehead, and Kurt frowns. It _is_ , but something in Blaine's posture feels off.

 

"Is it what _you_ want?" he asks, pushing up on his elbows and _shit_ , that was a bad idea …

 

"Kurt, baby –" Blaine gasps, dropping his bag as he reaches out, supporting Kurt's weight as he tries to breathe, ribs and incision throbbing. "You ok?"

 

" _Fine_ ," he hisses, clamping his eyes shut.

 

"Let me see," Blaine says. He helps Kurt ease his t-shirt up and over his arms and head, clucks over Kurt's incision as if he has any idea what he's looking for. "Well … it's not bleeding or anything," he says, brushing his fingers carefully over the adjacent skin. "But maybe I should stay home today anyway–"

 

Kurt shakes his head. "No, no, I'm fine. But Blaine," he says, wiggling out of Blaine's grasp, "if this is about yesterday – I really was in a terrible mood. I didn't mean probably seventy-five percent of the things I said. I'll be fine here, but I only want you to go to work as long as _you_ want to go."

 

Blaine sighs, perches on the bed. "I want to make you happy, and I don't think _either_ of us are happy with things right now – plus, you're right, I am almost out of time off. I don’t even know if I have a full day's time left. Just – please, be careful. Okay?"

 

Kurt makes a little pouty face. "Okay. If you're sure. I promise to be good."

 

"Good," Blaine says, kissing him on the forehead. "I think I prepped everything enough that you won't have any trouble today. If you need anything, just call me and I'll come home, okay?"

 

"Kay. Have a good day. Text me recordings of the kids to cure my boredom. Let me in on the teacher's lounge gossip."

 

Blaine smiles. "Will do."

 

"You walking the kids this morning?"

 

"Yep, and we should've left five minutes ago …" Another kiss, and Blaine's dashing out the bedroom door, yelling for the twins to say bye to Papa. Two quick pecks on his cheeks, a promise from Gray that there will be another picture colored that afternoon, and Kurt's alone.

 

* * *

 

"Okay, let's see what we've got!" Blaine says, clapping his hands. As preoccupied as he is with how Kurt's doing at home, he's awfully glad to see these kids again. "Has Trina whipped you guys into shape as much as I hope she has?"

 

His student teacher grins at him, then looks at the choir. "Firefly Darkness. Let's show Mr. Anderson what we're made of, why don't we?"

 

He pulls a chair up and sits back to listen, to watch Trina juggle the accompaniment and direction. It's the hardest part of working for a school with little arts budget to speak of.

 

" _Open up your door my friend, and let me come in, come in from the firefly darkness to hear your stories again_ …"

 

He smiles as the music swells – they've been really working on dynamics, he can tell, and he definitely owes Trina a cookie at least for doing so much when he couldn't be there.

 

As they sing, his muscles let go a little, and he realizes how tense he's been the last several days – he hasn't even noticed until now, but his neck is aching from the stress. He hates fighting with Kurt like they have been, their snide, snippy little comments bouncing back and forth between each other, but _god_ , he can't help but be worried, what else is he supposed to _do_? He's hoping this morning's honesty was a good omen for the rest of the week.

 

He closes his eyes, let his kids' voices wash over him – it's not perfect, and they're lacking the tone that a high school choir would have, but their voices are clear and pure, and they're coming up on his favorite part.

 

" _Sing songs of wonder, sing of life begun, of fireflies and moons over meadows green, sing songs of children growing toward the sun –"_ The music's swollen and gorgeous, bursting with life, and they executed the ritard _perfectly,_ he's so pleased. And then their voices drop off, Trina is a _master,_ getting them to learn their dynamics like this, " _Like the wild new lilies of the spring, the spring."_

He beams as the music ends, jumps out of his seat applauding them. " _Beautiful_!" he praises them. "I should take vacation time more often if _that's_ what happens when I'm gone. Soloists, beautiful job, you guys have just made my day."

 

He instructs them to get out their next piece and while they do, he texts Kurt.

 

**To: Kurt**

**Hope your day is going well – wish**

**you could've just heard what my**

**choir sounded like. Little angels!**

**Hope you aren't pushing too hard.**

**Love you!**

 

* * *

 

 _Hope you aren't pushing too hard_. Right. Like _that_ would be possible, with every little Tupperware container labeled, a basket of snacks set out for him – Blaine had even hung an outfit up for Kurt to put on.

 

Kurt sighs, tries hard not to be irritated. The morning had started so well before Blaine left, but left alone with all the reminders of everything he _can't_ do, things spiraled quickly. He picks up the Tupperware container with his lunch in it, a happy little Post-It note on top of it. Any other time, this would seem like the most romantic thing. It should _now._ But he's snarky and sore and bored to tears again, what's a person supposed to do when they can't actually do _anything_?

 

Snap at their husband, apparently. He's trying to be better, he really is, Blaine's just trying to help …

 

**To: Blaine**

**Glad your kids sound good.**

**Bored to tears. Ready to go**

**back to work** **L**

He sighs, readjusts his position on the couch, scrolls through his Netflix queue for the umpteenth time. Honestly, how much TV can he bear to watch before his brain _actually_ melts out of his ears?

 

* * *

 

Blaine goes to pick up Madison and Grayson and rushes straight home with them that afternoon, not wanting to leave Kurt alone for any longer than he has to.

 

He looks miserable, sprawled on the couch, staring blankly at the TV.

 

"Are you okay?" Blaine asks, worried, darting over to him. "Are you hurting? Do you need medicine?"

 

"Only if it's a cure for _boredom_ ," Kurt whines. "Blaine – I have got to get out of here, I'm about to lose my mind. I was good today, you'd be so proud, I did absolutely _nothing_ and it's about to kill me."

 

"Well …" Blaine says, trying to rack his brain for something they can do that doesn't involve much movement, that wouldn't put Kurt in any situation where he could get hurt. "Um …"

 

"Pizza! Daddy, can we get pizza?" Madison begs. "That wouldn't hurt Papa, would it? It's been _forever_ since we've gotten pizza."

 

"Kurt?"

 

" _Anything_ ," he says, looking like he might burst into frustrated tears at any moment.

 

"Okay. Pizza it is. But – it's only 3:30, we can't eat dinner at 3:30 …"

 

Grayson walks over to the couch where Kurt's lying, hops up to sit next to him. "What about ice cream? We never got to go get ice cream after the library that day you got sick, remember?"

 

"No, we didn't," Kurt says. "I'm sorry, bud. Why don't you ask Daddy what he thinks?" As Grayson turns away from Kurt, he mouths, " _Too much sugar_?" to Blaine, and Blaine smiles.

 

"I think that's a great idea, Gray," he tells his son. "Mads? That okay with you?"

 

"Can we still get pizza too?"

 

Blaine laughs. "Why not? We'll just make it a junk food day – everybody needs one of those once in a while."

 

" _Thank you_ ," Kurt mouths again, and Blaine nods ever so slightly in his direction.

 

"Now, why don't you guys go change out of your school clothes into some play clothes in case of drips, and I'll help Papa get ready to go, okay?"

 

They squeal happily, and run up the stairs to their bedrooms.

 

"I think Papa can get ready himself," Kurt tells him once they're gone, and Blaine tries to decide if what he hears is a hint of irritation. "Will you make sure the kids don't pick out 'play clothes' that don't need to get ruined with ice cream and pizza sauce, please?"

 

Blaine blinks at him as he winces off the couch. "Sure." A pause. "Are you sure –"

 

"Blaine," Kurt says tiredly, "I've never been so sure of anything in my life."

 

* * *

 

"Was your ice cream good, sweetheart?" Kurt asks Madison as he wipes her face with a napkin.

 

"It was deeee- _licious_ , thank you, Papa!"

 

Blaine tries to swallow the knot out of his throat. He doesn't know what's wrong with him – he's felt half-paralyzed since they left home, fearful and anxious, completely opposite of Kurt, whose mood has improved by leaps and bounds.

 

"Would you guys like to go to the park and play until dinnertime?" Kurt asks, somehow oblivious to Blaine's silence.

 

"Can we go to the library instead?" Madison asks. "I haven't had a new book to read in _forever_."

 

"I think –"

 

" _No_ ," Blaine interrupts, sharp and barking and very much unlike the way he normally talks to his children.

 

She looks at him, eyes wide, and he feels guilty for clearly hurting her feelings but he also feels like a frenzied bird is trying to escape his ribcage when he thinks of going back there, thinks of walking on the floor Kurt fell on –

 

"No," he says, gentler, fists clenching at his thighs, "I'm sorry Mads, but we can't."

 

"O … okay, Daddy," she says, shrinking back. Grayson takes her hand, and Blaine feels horrible.

 

"Let's go to the park like Papa said," their son suggests, tugging his sister along. "And when we get home after pizza, you can read more Harry Potter to us, okay?"

 

She nods, obviously still shaken, and Kurt gives him a look that he can't quite read.

 

Surprisingly, though, he doesn't say anything about it, doesn't say much at all while they sit on a bench and watch the kids play on the playground in Greenwich Village near their home.

 

"You okay?" Blaine eventually asks.

 

"I could ask you the same question," Kurt replies quietly. "What was that back there? With Mads?"

 

Blaine sighs heavily. "That," he carefully says, "was me after a full, hectic day of teaching on just four hours of sleep."

 

"Blaine," Kurt says, and his name sounds weary in Kurt's mouth, "that might have contributed, but I know that wasn't all it was."

 

"No," he agrees slowly, looks down at his knees, and Kurt's hand comes to rest atop one of them.

 

"I know you're scared. I know you are. But I promise, this works," Kurt says, and Blaine looks up to see him pointing to the pacemaker under his skin. "It's not going to happen again, okay?"

 

"You don't know that," Blaine says quietly, putting his own hand on top of Kurt's.

 

"Regardless of whether I do or not, we can't avoid the library forever. And, honey, it's one thing to be testy with me, but the way you snapped at Mads –"

 

"I know," Blaine says, his heart breaking. "If there was any way to go back and undo that, I would. But Kurt – going back there, I just can't –"

 

Kurt turns his hand over, squeezes Blaine's.

 

"We'll give it some time, then," Kurt says, leaning against Blaine's arm as they watch their children play.

 

* * *

 

Friday

Kurt wakes to more Tupperware containers in the fridge. Today the single Post-It reads, in Blaine's neat handwriting, _I'm sorry. I couldn't help myself_.

 

Kurt sighs and, ribs aching, opens the fridge and lifts the milk out himself.

 

* * *

 

That night, Blaine somehow manages to land himself on the couch. He's still so confused, he's not even sure how it happened.

 

It started with the trail of Kurt's fingers down his arm, the press of Kurt's lips to his neck. Five little words – "I'm a little tired tonight" – and he got a cold shoulder, three more – "Kurt? What's wrong?" – and he'd been shoved out in the hall with his pillow.

 

"Maybe the couch will help you figure it out."

 

The couch isn't very forthcoming, it turns out, and he still can't figure out what he did wrong.

 

Unless Kurt could somehow tell, with his voodoo mind-reading powers, that Blaine was lying. He's not actually tired; not _really_ – Kurt's lips on his neck and he was almost a goner, actually, but it's too soon, the doctor said no vigorous exercise for four weeks, and there's no possible way that even just kissing him won't hurt his ribs, he can barely _touch_ Kurt without fear of causing searing pain.

 

He just has to be patient, that's all. He's waited for things before. They waited for their children for 37 weeks; he can wait _four_.

 

* * *

 

A single tear slips down Kurt's cheek – no one's rejection hurts him more than Blaine's, and he's bored and tired and _frustrated_ , dammit, and waiting for sex has never been something he's been good at, not since he and Blaine started having it.

 

Stupid scar, stupid body, stupid pacemaker; he wishes none of this had ever happened to him.

 

He rolls over and tries to sleep.

 

* * *

 

Monday

"I tried singing this morning," Kurt confesses as Blaine putters around the kitchen, making dinner. After a _very_ long weekend, he's still not letting Kurt help with much, although he has asked him to set the table for dinner. Like their children do most nights. A seven-year-old's task. Wonderful.

 

"Oh yeah?" Blaine says. "You didn't push too hard, did you? Are your ribs okay?"

 

It's all Kurt can do not to stomp his feet in a temper tantrum – he hates this short fuse he's grown lately, but it's getting harder and harder to be cooped up in the house. The weekend, Blaine jumping to tend to his every want, need and whim, had just about done him in. The mother hen routine was helpful at first, he'll admit, but now that he's getting some mobility back, it's just absurdly irritating. "My ribs are fine," he says, managing to hold any snippy retorts inside. "I don't have the breath control back all the way, but the sound is still there."

 

Blaine looks at him. "I bet it sounded great."

 

"I – I tried it out for Dr. Peterson, actually. You know, my cardiologist? I, um, I got my stitches out today, I don't know if I told you …"

 

" _What_?"

 

"Yeah, he said – I should be fine to go back to work in a few more days. Maybe the end of the week sometime, or the beginning of next week. I'll have to be careful in a couple parts, but it's not like my job is a contact sport."

 

Blaine's frowning, not smiling. "Why didn't you tell me?"

 

 _Because you would've made an enormous deal out of it, just like you are right now_. "I thought I did," he lies. "Must've slipped my mind – I'm sorry, honey."

 

Blaine shakes his head, stirs the vegetables with a little more vigor than is technically required. "I just don't know – are you _sure_ you're ready to go back to performing? I mean, it's pretty strenuous, singing for that long …"

 

Kurt prickles all over. This is precisely why he never told Blaine about the doctor's appointment in the first place; he would've insisted on missing school to come, then would've argued with the doctor about how Kurt's not ready for anything yet.

 

"I think my doctor knows better than you do," he says tersely. "I go back in two weeks for more testing to make sure everything's fine, but he had no concerns. My EKG was normal, so that at least means that the pacemaker's working, which is what you're worried about, right? So you can stop."

 

"Stop worrying about you. Right," Blaine mutters through his teeth. "Because you don't tell me to do that every five minutes already …"

 

Kurt closes his eyes for a long few seconds; he's been doing a lot of that around Blaine lately. "Please," he says. "I _need_ this, _please_ don't question my judgment. Or my doctor's."

 

"Did I say I was _questioning_?" Blaine snaps. "Did I ever tell you _not_ to? No. I asked if it was too strenuous. _Dammit_ , Kurt, this entire weekend –"

 

He stops in mid-sentence.

 

"This entire weekend _what_?"

 

Blaine gives a slight shake of his head and nods toward the stairs at Kurt's back, and he realizes – the kids are listening. "This entire weekend I've been very glad to spend time with you and Mads and Gray," he says evenly. "Please try and remember to tell me when you have a doctor's appointment next time, though, okay? We'll talk about your return to work later."

 

Kurt nods, tamping the irritation down for the moment, forcing his voice to sound calm. "I'll try," he says, turning around. "Hey guys. You want to help Papa set the table for dinner?"

 

* * *

 

Tuesday

The kids have begged to go home with Cora the next afternoon after school, wanting to put together another play, and Rachel consents gladly, insisting that Kurt and Blaine need some time alone.

 

Blaine wonders what Kurt's been telling her.

 

Kurt's in bed when he gets back from dropping them off, begging him to take a nap. But it becomes very clear, very soon after Blaine crawls under the covers, that a nap isn't what Kurt wants at all.

 

"I'm sorry we've been so short with each other," he murmurs, curling into Blaine's side. "It's just so hard, being cooped up in here when I'm used to being able to _do_ things." He pauses, trails his fingers down Blaine's back, over the wing of his shoulder blade. "I miss _doing_ things with you." A kiss pressed to the nape of his neck, just where his hairline ends. "Do you want to _do_ things with me, Blaine?"

 

He almost groans, almost gives in, Kurt's voice is low and sultry in his ear and he's half hard in his pants, but – Kurt still winces when he walks up the stairs. He can't even get enough breath to completely sing properly. Hurting him again just isn't an option.

 

"I – I'm actually a little behind on my lesson plans," Blaine says, rolling out from under Kurt's grasp, standing up from the bed. It's killing him, saying no – Kurt's hair is mussed, he's got on an oversized t-shirt and nothing else, he looks _years_ younger than he actually is, and the whole thing looks like one giant porn scene for Blaine and Blaine alone. But then Kurt shifts and flinches when he does it and no, Blaine is _not_ going to hurt his husband again just so he can get some pleasure out of it.

 

"Lesson plans? _Really_ , Blaine? Weren't you just _at_ school; don't you have a free period for doing _just that_?" Kurt asks, his expression turning from sexy to _angry_ in no time flat.

 

Blaine doesn't know how to answer him.

 

" _I_ ," Kurt says, practically spitting the words out in Blaine's face, "am going on a fucking _walk_ ; I have _got_ to get _out_ of here. And I swear to god if you say one thing about me being too _weak_ or _unsteady_ or fuck knows what else I will show you just how _weak_ I really am and knock you over the head with that stupid lamp you love, _god_ –"

 

"Go ahead," Blaine says, his voice brittle, cock still interested enough to be _just_ uncomfortable, the way it's situated in his pants. "Looks like you're _really_ sorry for being short with me now."

 

Blaine's lucky the look Kurt gives him can't shoot actualdaggers. Kurt throws the covers off, curses, obviously in pain, stomps over to his drawers and pulls out some clothes.

 

He's gone within a few minutes, leaving Blaine fuming in his wake.

 

* * *

 

It's clear to the kids that something's amiss when they get home that night. They're quieter than normal – _everyone's_ quieter than normal, and Kurt gets a guilty knotted-up ball in the pit of his stomach when Madison grabs Grayson's hand, whispers something to him, and tugs him down the hall toward their rooms.

 

Dinner is tense, and Blaine actually lets Kurt wash all the dishes after, begging off to put the kids to bed and get ready himself. Kurt knows he's mad, as well he should be – he flew off the handle earlier; he _knows_ that, he went completely overboard, stomping out like that. But _god_ it's been at least three weeks since he's had an orgasm, probably longer than that, and his level of sexual frustration is beginning to reach intolerable proportions.

 

He walks to their bedroom when the dishes are done, left to air dry in the rack, and finds Blaine shedding his clothes for the night. He legitimately almost starts drooling – he may be irritated beyond words over the extent of Blaine's worrying, but that doesn't change the fact that at 39, his husband's body is still in the running for the hottest thing he's ever seen.

 

He pulls his shirt off, musses his hair a little. _Here goes…_

 

"Hey," he says softly, catching Blaine by the elbow. "I am seriously sorry I've been an asshole lately."

 

"Are you?"

 

"I am, half the time I don't even think it's you I'm really mad at, I'm just tired and bored and sore … but none of that is any excuse."

 

Blaine shrugs. "I mean, it's not like I _like_ it, but I do understand – I just wish you wouldn't take it out on me, you know?"

 

Kurt nods. "I know. I swear, I'll try to stop – I'm so ready to get back to the gym, I've had _no_ outlet lately."

 

"I know you haven't."

 

"No. But … I may have thought of a viable option," Kurt says, stepping in closer to Blaine's body. "Honey? I _miss_ you."

 

"Kurt –"

 

He sees Blaine's eyes dart to his incision line for a split second, tries to ignore it.

 

"Come on, the kids are in bed, it's not that late, and I'd like to show you exactly _how_ sorry I am," he says, murmuring into Blaine's ear. "I want to spread you out, kiss down your–"

 

But he's cut off before he ever gets to finish when Blaine ducks away from him.

 

"Kurt. Just – not tonight, okay?"

 

Kurt blinks at him. "Are you still mad at me?"

 

"I'm –" Blaine sighs. "I'm not mad. It was a long day. I'm just tired. Maybe later sometime, okay?"

 

He blinks again. "O–kay," he says, shocked, the syllables not wanting to come out right on his tongue. "I – I'm just gonna take a shower, then, I didn't get one this morning. 'Night."

 

* * *

 

The second the bathroom door shuts, Blaine presses the heel of his hand into his groin and _hisses_. Kurt is actually trying to kill him; it's very clear now. But that incision line, healed but still so red, he can still see the holes where threads stitched his husband's skin back together, and once Blaine's hands are on him they're not going to be able to control themselves. He won't hurt Kurt more than he already has, he won't, he _can't_ , he's there to protect and comfort, not to damage. And he's not about to jerk off when he's refusing Kurt sex – it's an asshole thing to do, and if he's going to make Kurt wait for it, so can he.

 

His cock says otherwise.

 

He crawls into bed, cotton pants rubbing against it, driving him slowly mad, and tries to think about very dull things like geometry and state capitals. It works, mostly, and he picks up his glasses and a book, very decidedly does _not_ think about Kurt showering, only one doorway on between them.

 

* * *

 

Kurt's hand is on his cock before the shower ever warms up – he's willing himself not to cry; this is the third time in less than a week that Blaine's flat-out refused his advances. He doesn't know what's going on; this _never_ happens, Blaine is usually more than willing to make room for sex whenever they can. _Especially_ make-up sex; they _love_ make-up sex.

 

Kurt doesn't go three weeks without an orgasm very often, for obvious reasons, as his cock now feels like it's filling up the rest of his body, and he's very close to imploding from the inside out.

 

He doesn't even try to take his time with it, doesn’t run a hand over his nipples or his hole or fondle his balls, he just gets in the shower once the water's hot, stinging his still-healing incision, and jerks, hard and furiously. It's angry, the way he does it, like he's taking his frustration with Blaine out on himself, but god, it's rough and it feels good, just how he wants it.

 

His hips are singing with it, stuttering forward of their own accord into his tightly-clamped fist, and he bites down on the knuckles of his other hand to keep from crying out – _god_ , it's been too long, _god_ , he wishes this were Blaine's hand and not his own, _god_ it feels good, though, _god god_ _god_ –

 

It shoots through him like a rocket. He paints the walls of the shower with the beginning of it, thick, white ropes streaking across the gray stone tile, then pulsing out onto the floor, down his fist. He slumps against the wall, breathing hard, feeling like he's just run a marathon. He could take a nap then and there.

 

When he finally emerges from the bathroom, limbs all floppy and feeling of Jell-o, Blaine's sitting in bed, reading a book.

 

"Feel better?" he asks.

 

Kurt shrugs, still hurt and confused over why Blaine's acting nice, but refusing him anytime he so much as makes an advance. "Kind of wore me out a little," Kurt answers honestly, contemplating whether or not he should make Blaine sleep on the couch again.

 

Blaine looks up at him then, reading glasses pushed down on his nose, and _god_ he looks like such a _teacher_. Kurt feels a stirring in his groin that it should be soon to feel, but the glasses just _do_ things to him…

 

"Come to bed, then," Blaine says, patting the space next to him. "You've got all night to recuperate."

 

He gives Blaine a thin smile – it's _them_ that need recuperating more than his energy levels, but he doesn't want another fight tonight, so he stays quiet. "Perfect."

 

* * *

 

Thursday

Over the next two days, Kurt and Blaine skirt around each other like magnets turned the wrong direction – one gets too close, the other bounces away. It's killing Kurt, knowing that there's something about him that Blaine's just not interested in anymore. He's not been quite as snappy as he was; relieving the sexual tension has helped, and he's taken to jerking off in the shower every morning regardless of how sore it makes his ribs.

 

The emotional tension, however, hurts the most. Relationships go in cycles; he _knows_ this, seventeen years and they've been through their share of rough patches, it's not like this has never happened before. But in the wake of his near-death experience, it feels different somehow. And the fact that they have kids, _have_ to be a team or there will be mutiny among the ranks, makes it all the more difficult. It's not that he doesn't think their marriage can withstand such a low; they've gotten through worse, but that doesn't mean it doesn’t hurt like hell all the same.

 

* * *

 

Blaine's really done it now.

 

Kurt's barely talking to him at all, ducking away from hugs, withdrawn and moody and not himself. He almost preferred the snapping, if he's being a hundred percent honest, because at least that was a _Kurt_ kind of reaction. This, and he barely feels like he knows his husband. The physical advances have stopped completely, gone is the coy, flirtatious man who came on to him two days ago, replaced by a cold shell.

 

This is the worst spell they've had in ages, _years_ , really – it's not uncommon for them to fight, but the longer they've been married, the fights have grown shorter, less vicious, more often little tiffs that resolve in hours rather than days. Not so, this time around.

 

Worst of all, the kids can tell.

 

Blaine's been fielding questions that make him squirm inside – "Are you going to leave Papa?" "My friend Anna's mommies stopped loving each other, are you going to stop too?" "What will happen if you and Papa don't live together anymore? Where will we go? Will you make us live apart too?"

 

With each question comes a burning behind Blaine's eyes – of _course_ they're not leaving, of _course_ they still love each other – he'll love Kurt till the day he dies, and probably long after that, love him from heaven if heaven even exists, or follow him around as a lovesick little ghost. But it's hard for seven-year-olds to understand, the complicated nature of love being what it is, and all he can do is try to allay their fears the best way he knows how. He has no doubt that Kurt's doing the same thing from his end as well.

 

He hopes it's enough.

 

* * *

 

Saturday

_The hair tucked in Blaine's fist is soft, silky. He feels it all over, the pleasure-pain of hovering right on the edge of orgasm; it feels like he's been there for hours. He's fucking into – Kurt, yes, he knows it's Kurt even though he can't see his face, would recognize those shoulders anywhere, fucking him hard, making the bed shake and jar against the wall._

_Out of Kurt's throat is coming a sound like nothing's he's ever heard before. He sounds like Blaine thinks a unicorn might sound, if unicorns were real, if unicorns could sing. Ethereal. Otherworldly._

Faster _. Kurt's voice in his head, like he can read his mind – maybe he_ can _read his mind here, so he does, fucks him like he's never fucked him before, yanks his head back, drives his hips. Kurt's song never stops, his body pliable and open, Blaine can do anything he wants._

_Suddenly, oh god,_ he's _being fucked, Kurt's whispering in his ear, dark dirty things that make him moan, there are_ two _of him, one in front and one behind. His ass is_ full _, feels amazing, in perfect synchrony, his ass and his cock and somehow Kurt's fingers are pinching his nipples, there's a mouth somewhere on him, it's too much, surrounded by Kurt, the song and the words and he fucks harder, harder than he ever has, his ass is stretching beyond what he thought possible, but there's no pain, only pleasure, oh_ god _–_

The first thing Blaine notices when he starts awake is that he is hard and leaking between his legs, his cock _throbbing_ , hips making tiny circular movements against his bedsheets. The second thing he notices is that the sun hasn't even come out yet, an unfortunate side effect of being a teacher – he hardly ever wakes when it's light outside. And the third thing he notices is that Kurt is still snoring softly beside him.

 

He can't think, it's too early – his body overpowers his mind, and he slips out of bed, heads straight to the bathroom, turns on the shower, still half asleep, animal instinct leading him. As soon as it's hot, he steps in, hand tight on his cock, he wants it _so_ badly, wants it _now_ yet wants it to _last_ , the eternal paradox. He utters a tiny, helpless groan as his hips thrust forward, purposely letting go of himself. Not yet. He wants to milk every second out of it.

 

When he's caught his breath a little, he fists himself again, swallowing back a moan, dragging the pads of his pinkie and thumb down his nipples, shuddering. _God_ , when he thinks about it – oh _fuck_ , he can't think about it, he'll come on the spot, it's the most intense sex dream he's had in the better part of a decade. Over a month of abstinence, no wonder his body feels like a rubber band stretched too tight, close to breaking.

 

He's desperate, leaning heavy against the wall to keep himself from falling over, he's too close too fast, and oh god, it's overwhelming. He's not sure he'll actually be able to stand through this, might actually fall to the ground with it. A tiny sound escapes him, and he bites hard on his lip to keep them in, the moans that want so badly out of his chest.

 

He's been on edge for a while, no telling how long he was hard in his sleep, and it's too-much-not-enough. His hand flies, forearm aching, and he's so close, right on the edge, about to fall over. He closes his eyes, thinks of the dream, oh _fuck_ it's good –

 

"Blaine?"

 

Kurt's sleepy voice, the bathroom door opening, and no, no, not now, he can't stop, really can't, he's _there_ , right _there_ , if he can just come fast enough maybe Kurt won't know, _fuck_ , it's so good _, shit_ –

 

"Blaine, why are you showering so early? You know it's Saturday ri–"

 

The glass shower door opens as he grunts, his orgasm hitting him like a freight train, and he was right, standing is difficult; he falls into the corner of the shower, two walls to hold him up as he pulses and spurts, white come splashing out of him, a stream of it hitting Kurt square on his bare stomach.

 

" _Kurt_ ," he whispers, panting like he's run a marathon.

 

His husband, his darling husband to whom he's just been an absolute _dick_ , turns to ice like Blaine's only seen once or twice in their lifetimes, and he slams the shower door so hard Blaine's worried it will shatter.

 

"Fuck. You."

 

Blaine's not even done coming down yet, shaking like a leaf, and he wobbles to the door, pushes it open, tries to find a towel which he hadn't had the forethought to grab in his haste to the shower.

 

" _You_ – _fuck_ you," Kurt seethes, spinning around, wiping Blaine's come off his stomach. If Blaine didn't know better, he'd be scared that Kurt's going to _actually murder_ him.

 

And then he sees tears shining in Kurt's ice-cold face and wants to crawl in a hole and never come out.

 

"I cannot _believe_ you," Kurt hisses. "You – you made a mockery – _fuck_ you." He throws on a pair of Blaine's beach flip flops – Blaine barely believes what he's seeing, Kurt _hates_ them, calls Blaine an imbecile when he wears them, dammit, Blaine _is_ an imbecile – throws on a t-shirt and marches toward the door.

 

"I will be back," Kurt says, his voice brittle and _mean_ , "but only so that our children will not worry. You will take care of them. By the time I get back, they will be dressed, their hair will be brushed, Madison will have an appropriate hairbow for her outfit, and you will be prepared to take them to Rachel's so you can come back and appropriately _grovel_ because that is what I expect. Do you understand me?"

 

"Kurt – I – please, it's not –"

 

"Shut up."

 

Blaine recoils, would rather Kurt keep yelling. He's not told Blaine to shut up in years. "I'm sorry," he says, hanging his head.

 

"Yes, well, you should be. Kids ready before I'm home. Got it?"

 

Blaine nods, and Kurt's breezing out the door, somehow managing to look like a regal ice queen in last night's pajamas and Blaine's sandals.

 

Once he's gone, Blaine sinks to the bed, puts his head between his hands and breathes.

 

* * *

 

"Mads?" Blaine whispers, peeking into the door of her room. "Do you want to go play with Cora, sweetie?"

 

She sits up and rubs her eyes, sleepily nodding her head, and he moves to Grayson's room. "Gray," he says, shaking his boy's shoulder, so much harder to wake than his sister. "Gray, bud, time to get up – you and Mads get to go work on your play with Cora today!"

 

He mumbles something unintelligible, pulls the pillow over his head. Blaine sighs, pulls it off again. "Gray. Up now, please."

 

Madison, now walking down the hall, bunny in hand, has discovered the lack of Kurt's presence. "Daddy? Where's Papa?"

 

"He went for a walk, honey, and maybe to get some coffee," Blaine answers quickly. "He'll be home in a little bit, but we need to be ready to go when he gets back, okay?"

 

She frowns. "I don't think I believe you, Daddy."

 

Grayson pads in next to her. "What?"

 

"Papa's gone."

 

If Grayson wasn't awake before, he is now. "He's _gone_?" He whips around to Blaine. "He _left_? _You said he wasn't going to leave_!"

 

"He didn't leave forever, buddy, he just went for a walk," Blaine insists, but it's no use. His kids are too smart for their own good.

 

"Before the _sun_ is even finished coming up? What did you _do_ , Daddy? Did you have another fight?" Madison demands, and his heart breaks. "Where did he go? Is he going to a hotel? That's where Anna's mom went."

 

"No, baby, I _promise_ , he's coming back," Blaine explains, taking each of their hands in his. "Come here, look," he says, walking them into his and Kurt's bedroom. "See? All his stuff is still here. He didn't take a suitcase with him. He didn't take _anything_ with him, he just wanted to go for a walk. Sometimes when we're sick, we need fresh air, you know?"

 

Grayson yanks his hand out of Blaine's folds his arms across his chest. "I don't believe you, either. You've been fighting all _week_!"

 

Blaine closes his eyes, tries to breathe before he does something like yell at his children or cry. "I promise, I wouldn't lie to you," he says. "When Papa was sick, when he was in the hospital, I told you the truth about everything, right? I would never lie to either one of you."

 

"Why have you been fighting, then?"

 

He sighs heavily. "Because sometimes," he explains, voice terser than he wants it to be, "being married is hard. Sometimes, when we love people, those are the people that can make us the most frustrated. Kind of like when you guys fight with each other. You wouldn't just move out because Gray took your doll, right, Mads?"

 

She sneaks a glance at her brother.

 

"And Gray, when you complain about Mads being bossy, does that mean you don't love her anymore?"

 

"…No, I always love her. Even though she _is_ bossy."

 

"Okay, then," he says, heaving a sigh. "Same thing with Papa and me. Now, will you guys please go pick out some clothes while I make us some breakfast?"

 

"O _kay_ ," two little voices answer, and god, could the morning get any longer? It's not even seven o'clock yet …

 

He's heading to the kitchen to whip _something_ edible up when the door swings open. " _Kurt_ ," he yelps, panicking for a moment. "I – I didn't realize you were coming back _this_ soon, the kids – they're up, I promise, they're just –"

 

"Hey," Kurt says softly, stepping forward to place a hand on Blaine's arm. "Shh. I promise, I'm not going to tar and feather you. I –" He pauses, looking down at the floor, a sheepish look on his face. "Obviously I overreacted. I – well, I got three blocks down the street before I really realized exactly what I was wearing, and then I kind of cracked up, and by 'kind of' I mean laughing hysterically in the middle of the sidewalk, because _timing_ , Blaine, I mean seriously you could not have planned that if you tried. And after I caught my breath, I realized that – I mean, it's been almost a month since I waxed or shaved or anything, and –" His voice drops to a whisper. " _There's_ come _drying in the hair on my stomach._ "

 

It's all Blaine can do not to snort out a laugh.

 

"I – okay," he says, unsure whether it's safe to be relieved yet or not. "Um – can you go in and say hi to the kids before you change, please? Because they were convinced for a while that you'd left forever. And I'm pretty sure they think it's my fault."

 

Kurt's face softens. "You know I'd never leave _forever_ , right? God, especially not in _this_ getup, my beautiful clothes all still in the closet …" Blaine manages to smile at him, and he smiles back. "I'll go get the kids and myself ready – god, I really do look ridiculous, don't I – and you make breakfast, we'll take them to Rachel's and then we'll sit down and talk. _Actually_ talk this time. Okay?"

 

* * *

 

"So," Kurt says, after the kids are dropped off to a surprised but willing Rachel and they're back at home, sitting across from each other on the couch.

 

"So."

 

"Can I go first?"

 

Blaine nods.

 

"Um – I've been trying to figure it out," Kurt says, suddenly shrinking. Blaine's the only person in the _world_ that can make him feel like this – it's still terrifying, twenty-four years after they first met, what Blaine can do to him, what that kind of vulnerability opens up. "Why you don't seem to be … attracted to me all of a sudden."

 

" _What_ –" Blaine starts, but Kurt holds up a hand.

 

"My turn." Blaine sighs, sits back, listens. "At first I wondered – I don't know, I turned forty back in March, and I didn't know if it could be _that_ … I mean, yeah, you're a tiny bit younger than me, I'm starting to gray and you aren't, yet, but I still think I look pretty decent, nothing's changed that I know of …" He pauses. "Until this." Pulling the neck of his shirt down, he points to the pacemaker, to the scar on his chest, still red. "I – Blaine, I know it's kind of unsettling, having a slightly bionic husband, and I know it looks weird under my skin, I mean you can _see_ it. The scar – I mean, it'll fade with time, I can get some cream to put on it, but –"

 

"I'm going to stop you right there," Blaine says slowly. "What on earth, Kurt – you honestly think I don't find you attractive anymore? Because of your _pacemaker_?"

 

"Well, it's the obvious answer," Kurt says. "I mean, you did reject sexual advances from me three times _in a row_ , which if I remember correctly has _never_ happened before.Is that not what it is?"

 

" _Kurt_ ," Blaine says, sounding like he's trying to be patient. "The doctors said you couldn't do any strenuous activity for four to six weeks after you got it put in. Maybe longer than that because of your ribs."

 

Kurt stares at him. "Did you _read_ the discharge instructions, Blaine?"

 

"I –" He stops. "Um. I don't remember?"

 

"In them, it specifies that 'strenuous activity' means _contact sports_. So, yeah, I'm probably not going to be revamping my starring role as football kicker anytime soon, but _it didn't mean sex, you doofus_."

 

Blaine blinks at him. "Sex isn't considered strenuous? Doesn't it strain your heart?"

 

Kurt sighs at him – sometimes, the inner workings of his husband's brain _astound_ him. For someone so smart … "Well, for one, I never asked you to fuck me until I couldn't stand up, did I?" Blaine turns bright red at that for some reason Kurt doesn't understand, but he continues. "I didn't expect some crazy kinky shit – I just wanted to be _intimate_ with you, Blaine. And _second,_ do you actually think that I _wouldn't_ make sure it was okay before I came on to you?" he asks. "Because, contrary to what _you_ apparently think, _I don't have a death wish!_ "

 

"Wait – what?"

 

"I looked about a dozen sites up on the internet that say that you can resume sexual activity, if you're comfortable, within about a week of having a pacemaker implanted. Just to make extra sure, I asked my cardiologist about it when he removed my stitches. He said, you know, basically what _I_ just said, don't do anything where I couldn't _walk_ the next day, and if it hurt, I probably should stop to protect my ribs, but …" Kurt sighs.

 

"…Oh."

 

"Oh is right," Kurt says. "So I literally thought you were just blowing me off, _not_ in the good way." Blaine snickers, and at least they're getting _somewhere_. "Why didn't you just tell me you were scared it would hurt me?"

 

"Um," Blaine begins, looking nervous, "well – I mean, every other time I've mentioned being worried about you …" He pauses. "It would've just been one more thing for you to get mad over. One more thing I 'don't think you can do,' which we also need to talk about …"

 

Kurt sighs. "That's fair. But this morning – I don't know, walking in and seeing you like that – it got to me, because it meant you really were lying about not being interested, you just weren't interested in _me_."

 

"That's not –"

 

"Well I know that _now_. But I didn't at the time."

 

Blaine _grins_. "Oh, if you only knew …" He laughs softly to himself. "So, this morning – um, I woke up to, like, the most _intense_ sex dream I might have ever had. I – I was trying to wait, I was actually pretty determined to wait with you until you were better, but … Kurt, you wouldn't have been able to help it either, there were like _four_ of you in the dream."

 

"I – wow. That makes me … wow." Kurt squirms in his seat a bit." So, just being completely honest, I've been jerking off in the shower every day for like four days now. I – I know that makes me the biggest hypocrite, getting so mad, I just wasn’t expecting it, you'd been denying me for days, and I _definitely_ wasn't expecting for you to _come_ on me."

 

"You – wait. _Four days_?"

 

Kurt gives him a wan smile. "I know, I know, it's not fair, but it did make me less cranky – god, I was so frustrated …"

 

"I'm more concerned about your ribs than your frustration levels," Blaine says, and Kurt heats up again.

 

"Oh my god, Blaine," he says, crossing his arms. "The 'other thing we need to talk about?' Here we go. Would you _please_ quit worrying about every single little thing I do? The doctor said sex is fine! I'm not doing anything that hurts! I have broken ribs – I'm going to be sore, there's nothing I can do about it, but that doesn't mean that I'm going to stop living my life!"

 

Blaine stares back at him. "You really don’t understand, do you?" he asks, shaking his head.

 

Kurt sighs. "Apparently I don't. But I'm listening."

 

"I almost watched you die," Blaine says, his voice thin as a wafer. "I brought you back to life, and in the process, I hurt you. I promised to never hurt you – _I'm_ the reason you're in such horrible pain –"

 

" _You're_ the reason I'm here at all, Blaine!" Kurt interrupts him. "I haven't, for one _second_ , blamed you for any of this, because it wasn't your fault!"

 

Blaine's not looking at him, though. "You don't understand what it was like, doing that," he whispered. "I felt them break. I felt your ribs break under my hands. I watched you wake up thinking you'd been kidnapped. I helped bathe you, with tubes coming out of every fucking _orifice_ of your body –" He breaks off.

 

Kurt stays quiet, waiting for him to finish.

 

Blaine shakes his head again, and when he looks up his eyes are filled with tears. "I guess – I'm not like you, I know that," he says. "I'm not as strong as you, I never have been – if I were to die, I know you'd be sad, but your life would go on, you'd keep being fabulous, you'd take care of the kids, but I – I could barely _breathe_ that first couple days, until we knew you were going to be okay –"

 

Kurt's hand clamps down on Blaine's like a vice. "What makes you so sure I'd be so brave to lose you?" he asks, teeth clenching down at the thought. "The only reason I started breathing again in _high_ _school_ was you, what do you think _losing_ you would do to me?" Blaine breaks in front of him, the first time he's cried since that afternoon in the hospital, and Kurt realizes it's been a long time coming.

 

"Come here," he says, wraps Blaine up in a hug that shoots searing pain through his chest. "I know it was scary. I know, I can't _imagine_ , I'm so sorry I've been difficult lately, but we're both going to stop. You're going to stop smothering me and I'm going to stop bitching at you. My ribs will heal and life will go on."

 

"And our kids will stop thinking we're going to divorce, god, we've been terrible parents this week," Blaine says, wiping his eyes.

 

"No," Kurt says. "We've never been _terrible_ parents, honey. It might not have been great that we've been fighting in front of them, but it'll be a good lesson for them – we can talk to them about ways you do and don't fight fair, and they'll see that you don't have to give up on a relationship just because you're fighting. That the good things are worth getting through."

 

Blaine bumps his nose against Kurt's. "You're my _best_ thing."

 

"And you're mine," Kurt says softly, smiling. "You'd think we'd know better after all these years …"

 

"One would think. And yet …"

 

"Well, I know at least one thing that will make everything better for the time being. And you'd better not say no this time." Blaine's eyes meet his in a questioning gaze, and Kurt grins darkly. "Make-up sex."

 

* * *

 

"Did you plan this?" Blaine asks as they walk back to their bedroom, hand-in-hand. "This morning, when you told me to take the kids to Rachel's …"

 

Kurt laughs, and it sounds like heaven, it's been too long since he's heard it. "No," he says, bringing Blaine's hand to his lips and kissing it. "I woke up to the shower, thought you were losing your mind because it's _Saturday_ , Blaine, who showers at five-thirty on a _Saturday_ , and then I had the rage too bad to think of something diabolical like that."

 

"You're always diabolical."

 

"Mmmm," Kurt hums happily, "only sometimes. But it worked out pretty well this time, didn't it?"

 

"It did," Blaine says. "I'm sorry I'm an overbearing psychopath."

 

Kurt grins. "Only sometimes." He kisses Blaine's hand again. "I'm sorry I'm a tool who doesn't understand your feelings. I'm sorry I expected you to be over all … this," he says, gesturing to himself with his free hand, "before you were ready."

 

"You," Blaine says as they reach the bed, "have never been a tool in your life."

 

"I bet my dad would disagree. I was a _tool_ at thirteen."

 

"Doesn't count," Blaine says, crowding into his space once they reach the bedroom, kissing him soft and sweet. "Everybody's a tool at thirteen."

 

"How long has it been since we had sex?" Kurt asks when their lips part.

 

" _Too_ long."

 

"It was before I got sick that first time," he says, thinking. "The Friday before, remember, because it was before my show."

 

Blaine grins. "In the bathroom. The kids were watching a movie."

 

Kurt's eyes narrow in contemplation, then grow wide. "That was _five weeks_ ago."

 

"Oh my god no _wonder_ we're both cranky," Blaine laughs, tugging Kurt toward the bed.

 

Once there, Kurt hesitates for just a moment. "You – you seriously aren't gonna change your mind about this at the last minute, are you?"

 

"No way in hell," Blaine says, low and growly, and Kurt sighs a little – it's amazing, 17 years of marriage, 23 years _knowing_ each other, and sex can still feel like a revelation.

 

Blaine lets Kurt crawl onto the bed first and he follows. They melt into each other after that; Blaine feels a little faint as Kurt grows hard on his thigh, bodies merging, shirts shed and thrown to the floor in an instant.

 

"How do you want this to go?" Blaine breathes, fingers skimming up and down Kurt's arms. He smiles at the dark curls of hair that are scattered over Kurt's chest and stomach – it really has been a while since he's been waxed. Blaine bends, gently rubs his face over it.

 

Kurt laughs. "Ow, ow, not like that," he says, a smile in his voice. "Don't make me laugh, it hurts."

 

"But funny sex is the best sex."

 

"Every sex is the best sex with you," Kurt says. "I mean – let's be honest here, as long as we're _having_ it, I'm going to be happy."

 

"Touche," Blaine replies. "Seriously, though – what do you want? What's not going to hurt you?"

 

"I – I'm not sure," Kurt says.

 

"I could blow you," Blaine offers. "You wouldn't even have to _move_."

 

"That sounds … yes," Kurt tells him, voice a little breathy as it escapes his throat. "But I want you to come, too." Blaine smiles, plays at the button on Kurt's pants.

 

"I could just jerk off."

 

"You've already done _that_ today," Kurt says, "and it didn’t end well. I want to _make_ you come." He pauses. "Why don't we start with your first idea and see where that leads us?"

 

Blaine grins. "My pleasure."

 

"Mmm, _mine,_ I think."

 

He inches Kurt's pajamas down, kissing over every centimeter of skin exposed – he's going to tease this out, make the foreplay last as long as he can, because once they start – well, it might not last long, this first time. Five weeks and they're starved for each other, parched like they've been in the desert, nearly forty days and forty nights of fasting from each other. No _wonder_ they were fighting, no _wonder_ they were irritable. They've not gone that long without sex the entire duration of their _marriage_.

 

He grins at Kurt, drags his zipper down with his teeth, and Kurt cackles with a muffled _ow_ and slaps his hand over his face, "You are ridiculous. _Ridiculous_."

 

Blaine gives a little shrug, the fight's all gone out of him now that they've talked, now that he's not so _worried_. He can't stop himself from it, Kurt almost died in front of him, after all, but – trust. Kurt's right. He needs to trust.

 

He helps Kurt wriggle out of his pants; they'll just get in the way for what's to come, but leaves his underwear, a cute, tight pair of boyshorts, god Kurt's _ass_ , what a gift – he'll spend half an hour staring in the mirror, complaining to Blaine that he's far too old to wear those, needs to graduate to "adult" underwear, look at the _flab_ , Blaine. But Blaine always says 'what flab?' and manages to always convince him to keep them, usually resorting to dirty and unconventional methods.

 

He smiles, mouths at Kurt's thighs, his belly.

 

"Stop _teasing_."

 

"Nope," Blaine says, pressing kiss after kiss into Kurt's skin. He's trying not to let the guilt come in, this is their space, no room for bad feelings, but he's just such an _idiot_ sometimes. They've been talking past each other – or not talking at _all_ – for too long, and Blaine should've known better, he almost _lost_ him. He should've been more grateful, should've done anything and everything for Kurt, should've _listened_ to him –

 

"Hey," Kurt says softly. "Where'd you go? Come back to me."

 

"I don't think I said this when we were talking," Blaine murmurs against Kurt's hip, "but I love you. Till the day I die. Forever."

 

"I love you, too," Kurt says, his fingers in Blaine's hair, on Blaine's scalp, and _oh_ , it's nice. He never wants to fight with Kurt again, knows that's a silly thing to hope, he'll be disappointed over and over and over, but in this moment they're perfect, the both of them, perfect together, and no one could convince him otherwise.

 

"God, I'm sorry."

 

" _Shhh_ ," Kurt whispers, fingers tucked into curls, rubs, rubs, rubs. "I'm sorry, too."

 

"Don't be sorry. Nothing to be sorry for," Blaine says, hooking his fingers into the waist of Kurt's boy shorts. "Just – be here. With me."

 

"I'm here," Kurt breathes, and Blaine looks up to see his eyes closed, head tipped back on their pillows.

 

"I know your feelings were very real and I'm not discounting them," Blaine tells him, gazing up at Kurt's face as he brushes his fingertips over the swollen lump Kurt's cock is making in his underwear, how it spasms and relaxes and he's perfectly beautiful, forty years of human splendor in the making. "But it is seriously _ludicrous_ that I would ever not find you attractive. Please, _please_ don't ever let that be your assumption again, because I promise you, it'll be wrong."

 

Kurt sighs, high-pitched and keening as his hips lift off the bed. " _Please_ stop teasing."

 

"Why?" Blaine asks, nuzzling over the soft cotton covering Kurt's cock.

 

"Blaine, put your mouth on my dick _now_ , so help me god …"

 

* * *

 

Blaine's trying to kill him. For all the apologizing they've been doing, if Blaine doesn’t put his mouth on Kurt, and quickly, Kurt's not going to survive this. He managed to survive AV Block, he managed to survive the cocksucker virus, whatever it was called, but this? Five weeks, and yeah, he's had orgasms, but not _Blaine_ orgasms, those are different, those are _better_.

 

Finally, _finally_ , Blaine tugs his ridiculous boy shorts down and off, allowing his cock to spring free, full and heavy. Kurt manages to keep his eyes open long enough to watch as Blaine, eyes hungry for it, licks up the shaft, slow and steady. It's not nearly enough, but leaves Kurt shuddering, desperate for more.

 

" _Blaine_ ," Kurt says, half whine and half order as the name leaves his mouth.

 

Blaine grins at him again – sex makes them both so happy, it's like a weight lifted, even the air in the house feels lighter. "Patience, my love," he says, licking up his shaft again, but this time, slowly, slowly, he sinks his mouth down over the head.

 

A soft, small noise escapes Kurt's throat, and he tightens his fingers in Blaine's hair, feels Blaine's hand gripping around his calf.

 

"So long," Kurt breathes, strung tight as a bow, "it's been so _long_ –"

 

" _Shhh_ ," Blaine says, pulling off to blow cool air onto Kurt's cock, making him shiver. "Relax, let me take care of you."

 

" _Yes_ ," Kurt whispers, goes pliant under Blaine's hands and mouth, every muscle lax. It feels fantastic, being cared for like this, Blaine's the only person who can ever take care of him completely, mind, body and soul. "I feel better than I have in _weeks_ ," he murmurs, shifting on the bed, luxuriating in the feel of their silky soft sheets against his skin.

 

"It's like medicine," Blaine says against the inside of his thigh, and he's about to agree when Blaine begins to _sing_ , " _And when I get that feeling, I want sexual healing_ …"

 

Kurt smacks him on the arm. "Stop it, you're ruining – _ohhh_ –" He finds himself swallowed, then, and yeah, no song could ever ruin this.

 

But Blaine pulls off again, with a horrid slurping sound. "What am I ruining?" His eyes are coy, he's got a dirty smile on his face.

 

"You are the most _infuriating_ man –"

 

"Ah, but _you_ married me," Blaine says, and sinks back down again, and this time he means business. Endorphins are incredible things – Kurt can barely even _feel_ his ribs, most of him feels half-numb, like it's not even there, the only thing that feels _real_ and _alive_ is his cock in Blaine's warm-wet- _oh_ -mouth.

 

"God – this – this won't take – _damn_ , I've missed thi- _oh god_ ," Kurt cries as Blaine's fingers come up to tease at his perineum, at his hole. Just dry pressure, he doesn't even have to push in, and Kurt's already on the edge.

 

"Shit," Kurt gasps, "not yet, I'm not ready –"

 

Blaine pulls off for a brief moment. "If you think this means we are _done_ , we might need to get you that brain scan after all," he says, grinning, a string of saliva connecting his chin and Kurt's cock. He sinks back down, takes Kurt in his mouth, his throat, and Kurt's toes point in sheer pleasure.

 

" _Blaine_ ," he whines. _How_ could they have fought like they did for so many days? How could he ever take this man for granted?

 

Kurt moans again, and Blaine bucks against the sheets a little, which makes Kurt moan louder, because Blaine's getting off on it, Kurt's cock filling his mouth, and oh god he can be as loud as he wants with the kids not home to hear.

 

"Blaine, oh god, _Blaine –_ "

 

Fingers teasing at his balls, over his perineum, he's seeing stars he's so close, hips wriggling up to be closer, deeper, _more_ –

 

"Yes," Kurt says, desperate, right on the edge. "Yes, yes, don't stop – _shit_ – god, Blaine, oh god oh god oh _ahhhhhh–_ "

 

Kurt bucks as Blaine's pulling back and the timing's off, Blaine manages to swallow a mouthful of come without choking, coming up for air with his eyes watering, coughing a bit, but his face is streaked with it, a trail of it dripping down his cheek onto his bare chest.

 

"I'm sorry," Kurt says, panting as he comes down. "I didn't –"

 

"You didn't do anything," Blaine says, swiping the corner of their sheet across his face to rid himself of tears and residual come. "You were perfect. Beautiful."

 

"Please tell me we're not done yet," he gasps, reaching out to guide Blaine up close to him, desperate to be close. Blaine cradles him, it's the best place in the entire world, being in Blaine's arms.

 

"Unless you want me to be _really_ uncomfortable," Blaine says, pressing his erection into Kurt's hip, "then no. Not even close. What do you want?"

 

"I want to feel you," Kurt breathes, reaching down to fondle Blaine's cock. "I want you inside."

 

"Kurt, baby, won't that –"

 

" _Trust_ ," Kurt interrupts. "I promise, if it hurts me, we'll try something else."

 

Blaine sighs, Kurt can feel him almost argue but he stops, kisses Kurt's temple instead. "How?"

 

"I thought maybe –" Kurt pauses, moves slowly, carefully to hover over Blaine. He's beautiful, eyes as clear and lovesick as they were when they first met. "You could sit against the headboard, and I could sit in your lap …"

 

"We haven't done it like that in forever," Blaine breathes, and it's true, they haven't.

 

"It's not – it won't be like _porn_ ," Kurt warns, "I – I don't know how hard you're going to be able to fuck up into me –"

 

"I won't move," Blaine promises him. "Unless you want me to, I won't."

 

"Okay," Kurt says, reaching carefully over to the drawer on his side of the bed. "Would you care to do the honors?" he asks, placing a bottle of lube in Blaine's open palm.

 

"Always," Blaine smiles, popping the cap open. This is what he's missed, this is what he wanted that first day he tried to initiate things, the _intimacy_ he has with Blaine, the connection. He breathes heavy and slow as Blaine lowers him down to the mattress, hand between his legs. "Is it too soon?"

 

Kurt shakes his head no, he needs this, knows Blaine needs it too. The first finger feels like a brand inside his body, hot, and he's still a little sensitive, shuddering as Blaine's wrist bumps his cock, soft and flaccid against his thigh.

 

"Okay?" Blaine whispers to him, soft and gentle.

 

"Perfect," he whispers back, relaxing again. And it is, it's on the verge of too much but god he _needs_ more, needs this closeness and intimacy that they've lacked for so long. Blaine kisses down his neck, sucking softly, and Kurt whispers to him, "Two, please."

 

He's not hard yet, actually might not get there for a while, but it feels good, the stretch and Blaine's fingers on his prostate, it's a warm buzzy feeling that makes him want to kiss and kiss and so he does, takes Blaine's face in his hands and kisses him, tongues dancing together until Blaine moans, presses his cock into Kurt's thigh.

 

"Keep going," Kurt instructs, mouthing at Blaine's jaw, and the third finger feels like a lot after five weeks untouched. But Blaine's patient and he's gentle and Kurt adjusts and Blaine's kisses are the sweetest thing he can imagine.

 

" _Kurt_." As patient as his husband is, though, it can't last forever, and Blaine's been hard for a while.

 

"Yes." His breath hitches as Blaine removes his fingers. _Come back, come back_ , his body seems to sing, arching for Blaine, and the pain in his ribs feels distant somehow, secondary to the things Blaine's doing to him.

 

Blaine slips on a condom for the mess – Kurt's grateful, he's not feeling agile enough to pull off, catch it with a towel _and_ not hurt his ribs – and slicks himself up, moaning softly as he does it.

 

"Tell me – if it hurts," Blaine gasps, and Kurt doesn't figure it's going to last long enough to be a problem.

 

Carefully, slowly, he straddles Blaine's lap, taking his cock in hand and lining it up, breathing steady as he sinks down. Blaine's cock, fully erect, is a bit bigger than three fingers, and it's a stretch, always is, but the way Blaine's head is tipped back, mouth parted slightly, little sighs escaping it is worth any stretch Kurt could ever get.

 

He's also getting a bit of a hard-on back, his cock interested as it slips against Blaine's belly.

 

"Oh god," Blaine's grunting as he bottoms out, "don't – just don't move for a second, oh _god_ –"

 

He loves it, loves taking Blaine apart piece by piece, putting him back together again. He bends to kiss him, and Blaine deepens it immediately, moaning into his mouth.

 

"Kurt," he says, "oh Kurt, _Kurt_ –"

 

His name on Blaine's lips is beautiful. It’s not a beautiful name, not a name like Julian or Tristan, but in Blaine's mouth it sounds like poetry.

 

"Can I move?" Kurt murmurs, fingers rubbing on Blaine's scalp.

 

Blaine makes a noise that Kurt takes as affirmative, and he flexes his thigh muscles, rises and sinks.

 

"Oh god –" Blaine says, eyes closing, head lolling back. "Oh _god_ –"

 

" _Shhh_ ," Kurt whispers, bends to kiss him again as Blaine's arms come, gentle as can be, around his chest, wrap around his back. It's perfect, they're _hugging_ , the closest hug they'll ever have, Blaine inside him, filling him up. Kurt grows harder between them.

 

"I love you. _Love_ you," Blaine babbles, hips squirming underneath Kurt. "You're perfect, so beautiful –"

 

Kurt rises and falls again, pulling a groan from Blaine's chest. It's got to be slow or this is never going to last, not the way Blaine's breathing already, so Kurt holds still again. He kisses over Blaine's face, the top of his head, and Blaine buries his face in Kurt's shoulder, clearly trying not to thrust.

 

" _Shhh_ ," Kurt murmurs again, "I've got you, you're okay." Another rise and fall, another, and yes, god, Kurt wants it, too, slow and controlled and overwhelming.

 

" _Blaine_ ," he whispers, "I love you so much."

 

There are tears in Blaine's eyes, it's shockingly intimate, facing each other, sitting and kissing while Kurt's slowly rocking, his cock getting steadily harder. " _Kurt_ –" He tucks his head, kisses soft and gentle over Kurt's incision, over the pacemaker.

 

Kurt squeezes him tighter, sinks up and down, up and down, it's the wave of emotions causing his desire, not the other way around; it threatens to overwhelm him, Blaine's cock filling him up, Blaine's love engulfing him.

 

"Yes, honey," he says, working his body over Blaine's. " _Yes_ , love you."

 

Their lips crash together again, a searing kiss that builds as they roll together, finding a perfect, slow, steady rhythm, their bodies making their own music, dancing together in the silence of the room. For as loud as Kurt was moaning while Blaine blew him, this feels sacred somehow, holy, reverent, their bodies coming together in worship of each other.

 

Blaine's arm tightens around Kurt's chest, his other hand moves between them to grasp Kurt's erection, and Kurt gasps, but doesn't cry out.

 

"Never want to let you go," he's murmuring into Kurt's chest, his body rolling up.

 

"Then don't," Kurt breathes, his own head falling back, lips parting in a silent moan as Blaine's hand works over his cock.

 

"Not gonna last," Blaine gasps, his hand coming up to grasp the back of Kurt's head, carefully guiding him down until their lips meet in a kiss that feels like fire. It's as if a flame ignites between them, stealing their breath, filling them with heat only for each other.

 

The reverent silence goes as fast as it came as Blaine begins to groan freely, his hips snapping up a little stronger and a little stronger, stroking harder on Kurt's cock. He's sex personified, but this isn't fucking, this is making _love_ , this is a gravitational pull that neither of them can fight.

 

" _Ohhhh_ ," Blaine moans, " _yes, Kurt, yes yes, oh god, like that, oh god oh god yes –_ "

 

Kurt's body rolls like he's never been injured, he just doesn't feel it, there's no pain, only fiery need to make Blaine come, to come himself. Blaine's voice spurs him on, he catches his lips in an open kiss, they're more panting into each other's mouths than anything, and Kurt can tell Blaine's right there, on the edge, so close. He closes his mouth over Blaine's, brings his hand up to pinch a nipple between his thumb and forefinger, just hard enough that Blaine _shouts_ into his mouth and lurches his hips up, the first hint of any pain Kurt's had, and spills and spills and spills.

 

"Oh god," he says, chest heaving, "oh god I love you so much oh my god Kurt –"

 

Their lips catch in another kiss and Kurt can feel Blaine begin to soften inside him. He carefully slips off, holding the condom in place, sighing a little, and Blaine, with shaky hands, finds the lube, slicks his hand up.

 

The pressure builds, not as strong as before when he was halfway down Blaine's throat, but it's pleasant and familiar and warm and Blaine's kissing him, still panting, his hand slipping up, down, around Kurt's cock and oh, _ohh_ , he thinks, as the orgasm curls in his belly and spurts out, little gushes of come down his cock over Blaine's hand.

 

"I love you," he murmurs again, breathing heavy with Blaine. "I love you, I love you –"

 

He's cut off, Blaine's lips pressing against his own in the sweetest of kisses, he feels like he might melt.

 

* * *

 

Sunday

Intermission, and Kurt's backstage, his first afternoon back at the theater. He's sitting cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed, practicing his breathing exercises after downing another two ibuprofen.

 

"You holding up okay out there?"

 

He looks up to see Jackson, his onstage love interest, smiling down at him.

 

"I'm good," he says, grunting a little as he pushes himself back up standing. "A little sore, but good. It's nice to be back."

 

"It's nice to _have_ you back," Jackson says. "Christian's good and all, but you're better. Easier to work with, for sure."

 

"Thanks."

 

Jackson nods. "Did Blaine come out today?"

 

"He _and_ the kids," Kurt says. "I think he just wants to keep an eye on me, though – he wasn't quite as ready for me to come back as I was."

 

"He loves you," Jackson says simply. "He's been worried sick, I'm sure – I know we all have, and we aren't married to you. Thank _god_."

 

Kurt laughs, winces a little, that still hurts. "Thank god," he agrees. "I can't imagine being hitched to the lot of you – I'll take Blaine and his worries any day."

 

"You'd do well to," Jackson tells him. "He's a good man."

 

At the end of the show, at curtain call, Kurt smiles as he bows gingerly, able to pick out Blaine's wolf-whistle in the crowd. Good man, indeed.

 

* * *

 

Monday

Two more weeks pass, and Kurt's moving better, slowly gaining mobility. He's managed to convince Blaine to _finally_ take back some cooking duties, and he's banished Blaine and the kids upstairs, ordering them to play while he makes dinner. He wants to do something nice for his family – he's so grateful, for them and to them, and he wants them to know how much.

 

So, humming all the while, he puts together a big pan of lasagna – Blaine loves it, the kids love it, and he loves it even if his hips might not – while a sheet of cookies bake, lavender vanilla shortbread. (He's determined not to have picky children; they will have _refined_ palates, so help him, even if he has to resort to lying about the lavender. The twins think they've got purple sprinkles in them.)

 

To his delight, the cookies come out just as the lasagna's ready to go in, and he slips them off the parchment onto the cooling rack. They're lovely, perfectly golden. Oh, he's missed baking.

 

He hits a snag, though, when he goes to put the lasagna in. He's made a lot; leftovers are helpful with Blaine and the kids in school and Kurt back to eight shows a week, and the pan is heavy. Too heavy, when he tries to lift it, it pulls in a bad way. He sighs.

 

"Blaine?"

 

Blaine's head appears at the top of the stairs, a hat made of stuffed animals expertly clothes-pinned together atop it. Sometimes Kurt wonders why Blaine doesn't teach kindergarten. "You rang?"

 

"Will you put something in the oven for me?" Kurt asks. "It's – I don't want to hurt myself."

 

"Sure!"

 

Blaine hops down the steps; he's been in a _much_ better mood the last week. Both of them have, really, what with the recommencing of their sex life as well as their communication skills. Kurt's learning to ask for help (there may have been an unfortunate incident with an unruly stage prop that set him back a couple days in the healing of his ribs, and left him temporarily unable to turn to the left), and Blaine's learning to trust, to let go a little because of it.

 

"Ooooh – _lasagna_!" Blaine exclaims, his face lighting up. It's one of Kurt's favorite things about him – people say things change when you have kids, but what they fail to explain is some people turn _into_ children after they have them. He's married to one of them. Ten minutes playing with the twins, and Blaine's seven again himself, innocent and excitable and often _mischievous_.

 

"Don't tell Mads or Gray," Kurt says, smiling. "I want it to be a surprise."

 

"Okay," Blaine says. "Come play with us while it cooks? _Please_?"

 

How can he say no?

 

"We've got 45 minutes," he says. "What are we playing?"

 

"Well – the Barbies were having a Civil War, and we were using stuffed animals as grenades, but …"

 

Kurt raises his eyebrows. "I shouldn't ask, right?"

 

"Probably best not to," Blaine agrees. "Hey, can I have a cookie?"

 

Kurt swats his hand away from the rack. "No, you Neanderthal, those are for _dessert_."

 

Blaine pouts at him for a moment, then sighs when he doesn't budge. "Fine. So, granted, teddy bear projectiles might not be the best thing for your ribs – what would you like to play instead?"

 

"Let's ask the kids," Kurt says, taking Blaine's hand and walking up the stairs toward their bedrooms. "Guys?" he calls. "Are any of the Barbies ready to surrender yet?"

 

Grayson bolts toward the door. "Is it dinnertime, Papa?"

 

"Not yet, bud, but I'm coming to play too and I don't really feel like being pummeled. Can we choose something a little more low-key, please?"

 

"What's pummeled mean, Papa?" Mads asked, looking up.

 

"Hit with things," Blaine says. "Like _this_ –" He takes the makeshift hat off his head, unclips the toys and tosses them at the kids, making them both squeal, and Madison picks up a beanie baby and pelts it back at him.

 

"Okay, okay, okay," Kurt says, laughing, walking in the room with his hands held up in the air. "Lieutenant Hummel is calling a cease and desist. I've got the order right here," he says, pretending to pull a piece of paper out of his back pocket. "See?"

 

"Aw, _man_ ," Grayson says, tossing the stuffed dog in his hand to the ground. " _Now_ what're we gonna do?"

 

"I thought we might play a game," Kurt says. "We've got 45 minutes before dinner's ready. Do you guys have any ideas?"

 

"Papa! Can we play Uno?" Madison asks.

 

Kurt grins. "Sounds safe enough, until the draw four cards come out at least – I'll go get the deck."

 

* * *

 

"Aww, _man_!" Grayson grumbles as he picks up two cards, Madison grinning wildly next to him.

 

"I got you! I got you!" she giggles, and Kurt can feel her swinging her legs wildly under the table.

 

It's Blaine's turn next, and he places his finger on his chin, thinking hard. "Should I be extra-nice to Papa since he's still not feeling his best, you think?" he asks the kids.

 

"No!" they cry, huge smiles on their faces, and Kurt puts his hand on his chest, faking insult.

 

"I can't believe it," he says, winking at Blaine. "You guys are so _mean_ to me."

 

His smile freezes and disappears fast, though, when Blaine plays a Wild Draw Four card and shrugs his shoulders.

 

"You should have begged for more mercy," Blaine tells him. "I was just going with the table consensus."

 

"Ohhhh," Kurt says, "you're gonna get it now. Gray, when your turn comes around, you play the worst card you've got on Daddy, ok? I'll give you extra dessert."

 

"Hey!" Blaine exclaims. "We don’t do bribery in this family, remember?"

 

Kurt shrugs. "All's fair in love and Uno. Your turn, Mads."

 

"What color, Daddy?"

 

"Oh, right. Um …" Blaine squints, contemplating the cards in his hand. "Blue."

 

They're still playing when the timer dings, Madison and Blaine both having achieved Uno status twice and Grayson once, only to have had to draw another handful of cards before they went out.

 

"I'm calling a halt to this game," Blaine says, setting down his hand. "I'm _hungry_."

 

"Us too! Us too!" the twins cry, bouncing in their seats.

 

"Why don't you guys clear off the table while we get the food? Daddy's gonna have to get it out of the oven," Kurt tells them, setting a salad bursting with fresh veggies on the table, hoping they might at least eat a little. "It's pretty heavy."

 

When Blaine comes in, oven mitts on his hands holding the huge pan of lasagna, the kids squeal in excitement and start bouncing in their chairs. "Papa!" Grayson exclaims. "Lasagna! My favorite!"

 

"Mine _tooooo_!" Madison sings, waving her fork in the air. "Yummy yummy in my tummy!"

 

"Are you sure you didn't sneak them some candy?" Kurt asks Blaine, shaking his head at their energetic kids.

 

"Positive," Blaine says, setting the dish on the potholders Kurt's set on the table, bending to kiss Kurt's cheek. "I think they're just excited that their Papa's well enough to play with them again."

 

Kurt smiles. "Well, their Papa is certainly glad he can play again too. I – I wanted to thank you guys, actually, all three of you. You've all been so wonderful the last several weeks – especially you, honey – and I wanted to do something to show how thankful I am for how patient you've been with me, and how well you've taken care of me."

 

Blaine's hand comes across the table to clasp in his, and he squeezes, smiling, trying to convey all the love he feels in one look.

 

"I'm glad you're better, Papa," Madison says, hopping down out of her chair. "I missed doing stuff like playing Uno and reading with you." She scrambles up in his lap, arms around his neck, gives him a kiss.

 

"I missed it, too," Kurt sighs, kisses her on the cheek as his arm comes around her, so thankful that his hospital stint turned out like it did and not like it could have.

 

"We also missed your food," Grayson says very seriously around a mouthful of dinner. "This lasagna is yum-yum- _yummy_!"

 

"Mmmm," Blaine sighs, eyes closed as he also takes a bite. "He's not wrong, Kurt. This is pretty amazing. And I have to say, I kind of missed your food, too."

 

Kurt grins at him. " _You_ just overdid yourself, teaching and taking care of me and slaving in the house. It's about time somebody made you some dinner." He pats Madison's bottom. "Sounds like you're missing out on the yummy, sweetie. Want to go eat your dinner before it gets cold?"

 

"Yes, sir," she says, giving him another kiss on the cheek before she hops down.

 

It's ridiculous, how tight Kurt wants to hold them all. And he will, later, the twins as he and Blaine put them to bed with a story and a goodnight hug, he'll cling to them a little longer for the rest of his days after almost not getting to cling to them again at all – and Blaine, his hero and his muse and his mornings and evenings, Blaine who he loves more than anything on this earth, he'll hold in their bed while they kiss, and he'll whisper his love in every language he knows. For now, though, he's content to eat a plate of lasagna and ask his kids about their day at school, listen to Blaine gush about how good his 8th graders sound, filling his belly while his family fills his heart.


End file.
